Were only I sure of a few kind years
More to be merry in, then my fears
I'd slip for a while, and turn and smile
At their hated reckonings: whence the need
Of squaring accounts for word and deed
Till the lease is up?... How? hear I right?
No, no! You could not have said, To-night!
II.
Ah, well! ah, well!
"Confess"—you tell me—"and be forgiven."