  Thou art o’erbold, Delilah, thus to try Thy traitorous arts upon a soul like mine, And lure me to eternal slavery With glances warm like wine. One clasp of my strong hands at will could break Thy tender body, like a fragile flower. How darest thou prey of my heart to make, And plot against my power? Hast thou no fear the brute in me will rise, Wrathful, and tear thy shapely limbs apart, And dull the jewelled lustre of thine eyes, And still thy faithless heart? Why dost thou let me look upon thy face, And see myself embowered in thine eyes, And every curve of thy lithe figure trace Beneath thy robe’s disguise. What harm have I wrought thee that thou shouldst stand And menace all my life with one great woe? Thou hast me in the hollow of thy hand— Take me or let me go! |
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