No; I cannot thank the care That my feelings sought to spare. Not compliment with compliment Should deal, but man with man. You meant To save me pain, and therefore bent The truth aside. This goes, my friend, Of all true love to make an end. Do you love me? Come then nigh me; Prick me, man! Never relent! Cut and hack and scarify me; -- If the truth can make me sore Let me be a wound all o'er: -- Do this but with pure intent, I am Yours For evermore. |