(Gaunt and gnarl'd)
Reflecteth the silver shield this welkin aghast,
And with haste translateth to gild'd black post and fast.
Anon — anon, say I! — the lid aside,
Crawl without this velvet-clad coffin blest,
The bottom sand of the hourglass is at tide,
'Tis and hath e'er been merry blood to pest —
To be adust for time longer can I not bide,
Hence the heart hale out thro' the chest!
Misery thee?! — Rather misery me! —
For in Time's durance am I naught but wee.
Sensing this pine is as deep as the deepest chasm,
Hither! — cede and fulfil my phantasm!
Cherish me and sonorously do me laud —
For dread! — thine eyes will behold a guise faugh'd.
This tender and loving pest I to thee bequeath,
Thence swiftly wilt thou errant to 'Neath.
And to me should'st thou be the humblemost knave,
Lest fear! — spit I on thy cist and grave! —
Lest leer I at thee and do bewitch,
And the tharms fluttering claw'd and eldritch.
To conquer thee and thy blood for glore
Art thou my afeard and reluctant whore;
Irksomely coy, save wiliéd by alarum,
Bear this torture and maim with decorum.
«One candle left to burn now, before the darkness comes…»
If e'er always was I this blissful and blithe
Would I resign to but its wee tithe.
Purvey my ache and quench my profoundest urge,
And to thee will I sing the lull-dull dirge;
Deliver thy blood like the rill filleth the ghyll.
Burrow to the trothplight with the Night and Devil! —
Bid Him to league with me — forsooth, merry to 'come 'twill.
Whilom wast thou vestal, yet now flit to thy tryst,
Elsewise will I coerce thine consonantry to turn whist;
Grasp I the snath and cut off thine breath,
So that thou canst in darkness and inferno vester,
For do I solely what He to me liefly saith.
Death — oh! fair and 'guiling copesmate Death,
Be not a malais'd beggar; claim this bloody jester!