And never could undo it: ask no

more:

For tho' you should not prove it upon me,

But keep that oath ye sware, ye might, perchance,

Assay it on some one of the Table Round,

And all because ye dream they babble of you."

And Vivien, frowning in true anger, said:

"What dare the full-fed liars say of me?

They ride abroad redressing human wrongs!

They sit with knife in meat and wine in horn!

They bound to holy vows of chastity! Were I not woman, I could tell a tale. But you are man, you well can understand

The shame that cannot be explain'd for shame.

Not one of all the drove should touch me: swine!"

Not mount as high;' we scarce can sink as low:

For men at most differ as Heaven and earth,

But women, worst and best, as Heaven and Hell.

I know the Table Round, my friends of old;

All brave, and many generous, and some chaste.

She cloaks the scar of some repulse with lies;

I well believe she tempted them and fail'd,

Being so bitter: for fine plots may fail,

Tho' harlots paint their talk as well as face

With colors of the heart that are not theirs.

I will not let her know: nine tithes of times

Face-flatterer and backbiter are the

same.

And they, sweet soul, that most impute a crime

Are pronest to it, and impute themselves,

Wanting the mental range; or low desire

Not to feel lowest makes them level all;

Yea, they would pare the mountain to the plain,

To leave an equal baseness; and in this

Are harlots like the crowd, that if they find

Some stain or blemish in a name of note,

Not grieving that their greatest are so

small,

Inflate themselves with some insane delight,

And judge all nature from her feet of clay,

Without the will to lift their eyes, and

see

Her godlike head crown'd with spir

itual fire,

And touching other worlds. I am weary of her."

He spoke in words part heard, in whispers part,

Half-suffocated in the hoary fell And many-winter'd fleece of throat and chin.

But Vivien, gathering somewhat of his mood,

And hearing "harlot" mutter'd twice or thrice,

Leapt from her session on his lap, and stood

Stiff as a viper frozen; loathsome sight,

How from the rosy lips of life and love,

Flash'd the bare-grinning skeleton of death!

White was her cheek; sharp breaths of anger puff'd

Her fairy nostril out; her hand halfclench'd

Went faltering sideways downward to her belt,

And feeling; had she found a dagger there

(For in a wink the false love turns to hate)

She would have stabb'd him; but she found it not:

His eye was calm, and suddenly she