Thou though'st thy bed-mate's keen audition closed
That thou hast never felt in Hell or Heav'n,
One half the joys thou drinks't from proffered cup
Of Sin, thy dearest child." Thus ceased the vile
Enchantress, but the lust of Satan's flesh
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Could never cease, and to his paramour
He says, with ribald countenace abashed:
"Beloved, if to thy high mind and soul
Divine I failed to render homage due
I renovate my fault, forgiveness beg,
And freely state 'fore all the world and you
Thy front begrimed and visage putrefied
Doth frighten only milk-sop mewling boys,
Taunt-couriers of all-spiteful God, who sends
His angels here to mock thy surface form.
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Where Did the Plot Go?
