THE TWENTY-THIRD DAY 
 
“ He has strangled 
His language in his tears.” 
K. Hen. VIII 
 
My comedy has changed its blithe aspect 
To bitterest face of tragedy ; she said : 
“ Alas !  O soul of mine !  I am surely dead, 
Seeing my life is by a serpent wrecked 
Of sore disease :  but spare me, and reflect 
That in few months I die :  but were I wed— 
O lover !  O desire discomfited ! 
I die at once :  consider, and elect.” 
 
How could I otherwise than spare my wife ? 
With tender lips and fingers one strong kiss 
Swooned slave-wise even before the gate of bliss, 
No more :  for I rose up and cursed my life, 
Hating the God that made us to dissever 
So soon so sweet a love, and that for ever. 
Ut. Canc.  sublatum iri dixisse.  Vae Capricorno ! 
(Author’s Note.) 
 
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