For the eyes all round us are hot with blood; They will kill us coolly they do but wait; While I, I would sell ten lives, at least, For one fair stroke at that devilish priest.
Just in return for the kick he gave,
Bidding me call on the prophet's name;
Even a dog by this may save
Skin from the knife and soul from the flame ;
My soul ! if he can let the prophet burn it,
But life is sweet if a word may earn it.
A bullock's death, and at thirty years!
Just one phrase, and a man gets off it; Look at that mongrel clerk in his tears
Whining aloud the name of the prophet; Only a formula easy to patter, And, God Almighty, what can it matter?
'Matter enough,' will my comrade say Praying aloud here close at my side,
'Whether you mourn in despair alway, Cursed for ever by Christ denied;
Or whether you suffer a minute's pain
All the reward of Heaven to gain.'
Not for a moment faltereth he,
Sure of the promise and pardon of sin;
Thus did the martyrs die, I see, Little to lose and mucklc to win;
Death means Heaven, he longs to receive it,
But whit shall I do if I don't believe it?
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