Nor any could, but with a guilty knowledge?
There's villainy I say, and you are in it,
The tool of a blind villain, who should be
Where now his brother rots, but that the Church
Is no more Christ's!
Ah, ah! my nails could tear
Your hated false caresses from my flesh,
Your kisses from my memory and fling them
Upon your wicked heart. And, for your master,
The Virgin strangle him! She—or another!