The World’s Tragedy

THE BLUE DWARF. I03 Fighting the leanness of thy lechery That hags thee — Faugh ! MAGDA Art thou not lewd with me ? ISSA Ay ! and the rot of Egypt pays me for’t. MAGDA To match thy rotten soul, thou pimping ort ! Marrowless bone ! Dry fig ! ISSA Enough, black bitch ! The Seventy shall stone thee for a witch. MAGDA More than enough. I’ll call thy darling itch, Thy— He fists her in the abdomen. ISSA Take the name back to thy bloated belly ! Speak, and I kick thy carcass to a jelly !