LIX
Do I unto a cruel tiger play,
That preys on me as wolf upon the lambs,
Who fear the danger both of night and day
And run for succour to their tender dams?
Yet will I pray, though she be ever cruel,
On bended knee and with submissive heart.
She is the fire and I must be the fuel;
She must inflict and I endure the smart.
She must, she shall be mistress of her will,
And I, poor I, obedient to the same;
As fit to suffer death as she to kill;
As ready to be blamed as she to blame.
And for I am the subject of her ire,
All men shall know thereby my love entire.
