She
And his failing you think permits me
Favor to accept at your hands,
That the vow I took at the altar
Ceases to impose its demands.
In sickness or health I promised,
“For better or worse”,—till the day,
He who gave should in his judgment
See fit to take away.
He
And you’ll let it bind you, that promise,
To a man who does not care;
Whose int’rest is the thoroughly selfish,
In whose secrets—you do not share,
Listen, dear, the priv’lege of Mortals,—
To get what we can out of life.
Free yourself from the bond that is irksome
And find happiness, as my wife.
She
Nay, not so, the rule of living
Holds faithful but to the one test;
Nor counts it—another’s transgression,
We must give of ourselves—our best.