I see what health there is within her heart.
Why fret my soul with this and that? why question
If, after swearing deathless love to me,
In such or such a way she made the breach?
Granted that she were pure, granted Soemus
Made her his head away—I cannot think it
But grant ’twere so—that Joseph did the same,
Was it my cue, before her spite’s stiff neck,
To sink my own, and like a milksop let her
Twist her to sheer negation of her soul?