Swing me hence to do thee service,
Be thy succour, prove thy shield;
Heaven will hear!—in house thy handmaid,
Squire upon the battlefield.
IX
At my breasts I cool thy footsoles;
Wine I pour, I dress thy meats;
Humbly, when my lord it pleaseth,
Lie with him on perfumed sheets:
X
Pray for him, my blood’s dear fountain,
While he sleeps, and watch his yawn
In that wakening babelike moment,
Sweeter to my thought than dawn!—
XI
Thundered then her lord of thunders;
Burst the door, and, flashing sword,
Loud disgorged the woman’s title:
Condemnation in one word.
XII
Grand by righteous wrath transfigured,
Towers the husband who provides
In his person judge and witness,
Death’s black doorkeeper besides!