XLVIII
"Murder! O murder!" I can cry no longer.
"Murder! O murder!" Is there none to aid me?
Life feeble is in force, death is much stronger;
Then let me die that shame may not upbraid me;
Nothing is left me now but shame or death.
I fear she feareth not foul murder's guilt,
Nor do I fear to lose a servile breath.
I know my blood was given to be spilt.
What is this life but maze of countless strays,
The enemy of true felicity,
Fitly compared to dreams, to flowers, to plays!
O life, no life to me, but misery!
Of shame or death, if thou must one,
Make choice of death and both are gone.
