Malice discharged in full? In that event,
"My queenly impudence, I cover close,
I wrap me round with love of your black hair,
Black eyes, black every wicked inch of those
Limbs' war-tower tallness: so much truth lives there
'Neath the dead heap of lies. And yet—who knows?
What if such things are? No less, such things were,
Then was the man your match whom now you dare
"Treat as existent still. A second truth!
They held—this heap of lies you rightly scorn—