But were you tempted thus to give her credit
Then I will set in scale my inmost feeling
And probing of each possibility
As counterbalance, and demand her death,—
Her death, I say! no more this nauseous goblet
I’ll empty which her proud defiance fills,
Nor day on day be gadflied with the riddle
If such a pride’s the most repellent face
Of Innocence, or the most brazen mask
Of Sin. I’ll rescue me from out this whirlpool