_Otti._ Sebald, as we lay, Rising and falling only with our pants, Who said, "Let death come now! 'Tis right to die! Right to be punished! Naught completes such bliss But woe!" Who said that? _Seb._ How did we ever rise? Was 't that we slept? Why did it end? _Otti._ I felt you Taper into a point the ruffled ends Of my loose locks 'twixt both your humid lips. My hair is fallen now: knot it again! _Seb._ I kiss you now, dear Ottima, now and now! This way? Will you forgive me--be once more My great queen? _Otti._ Bind it thrice about my brow; Crown me your queen, your spirit's arbitress, Magnificent in sin. Say that! _Seb._ I crown you My great white queen, my spirit's arbitress, Magnificent ... [_From without is heard the voice of_ PIPPA _singing_-- _The year's at the spring And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hillside's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn: God's in his heaven-- All's right with the world!_ [PIPPA _passes._ _Seb._ God's in his heaven! Do you hear that? Who spoke? You, you spoke! _Otti._ Oh--that little ragged girl! She must have rested on the step: we give them But this one holiday the whole year round. Did you ever see our silk-mills--their inside? There are ten silk-mills now belong to you. She stoops to pick my double heartsease ... Sh! She does not hear: call you out louder! _Seb._ Leave me! Go, get your clothes on--dress those shoulders! _Otti._ Sebald? _Seb._ Wipe off that paint! I hate you. _Otti._ Miserable! _Seb._ My God, and she is emptied of it now! Outright now!--how miraculously gone All of the grace--had she not strange grace once? Why, the blank cheek hangs listless as it likes, No purpose holds the features up together, Only the cloven brow and puckered chin Stay in their places: and the very hair, That seemed to have a sort of life in it, Drops, a dead web! _Otti._ Speak to me--not of me! _Seb._--That round great full-orbed face, where not an angle Broke the delicious indolence--all broken! _Otti._ To me--not of me! Ungrateful, perjured cheat! A coward too: but ingrate's worse than all! Beggar--my slave--a fawning, cringing lie! Leave me! Betray me! I can see your drift! A lie that walks and eats and drinks! _Seb._ My God! Those morbid olive faultless shoulder-blades-- I should have known there was no blood beneath! _Otti._ You hate me then? You hate me then?