Poppea

Dream of a funeral, blest temptress – behest me! –
a funeral thou’lt hark, swarth murderess – the devil,
thine feral grith with me, poppea, be hell’s hap;
waylaid the beldame bawd, the niggard: laughing tragedy.
And the wench doth bawdness to blow,
stay my adamant –
suffer me to transfix thee;
and the wench doth bawdness to blow,
let me dawt thine twain –
and, twine ‘hem apart.
Of marrow, do na mell; i am morelle –
the bosom’d titivil; travail me; a fáin,
subdue me with thine lote in oneness – make haste yet,
displode me in a font – poppea, do what thou wilt.
And the wench doth bawdness to blow,
stay my adamant –
suffer me to transfix thee;
and the wench doth bawdness to blow,
let me dawt thine twain –
and, twine ‘hem apart.