That name thou usest as my trap. Art not soft-brained?
That name will one day vengeance on thee for me take.
In fear of that dread name, I, soul and body, quake.
He’ll either take thy life with poison-fang of mine;
Or, like me, unto prison He will thee consign!’”95
Thus spake the woman bitterly unto her spouse,
Whole volumes would not hold the words that she let loose.
He answered her: “My wife! Art woman? Art thou mad?
‘My poverty’s my pride.’[288] Reproach me not when sad.
Possessions, wealth, are but a cap the scalp to hide.