A Guiltless Lady Imprisoned: After Penanced by Alice Meynell

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HARK, fair one, how whate'er here is

Doth laugh and sing at thy distress,

Not out of hate to thy relief,

But joy-to enjoy thee, though in grief.

See! that which chains you, you chain here,

The prison is thy prisoner;

How much thy jailor's keeper art!

He binds thy hands, but thou his heart.

The gyves to rase so smooth a skin / Are so unto themselves within; / But, blest to kiss so fair an arm, / Haste to be happy with that harm;

And play about thy wanton wrist, / As if in them thou so wert dressed; / But if too rough, too hard they press, / O they but closely, closely kiss.

And as thy bare feet bless the way, / The people do not mock, but pray, / And call thee, as amazed they run, / Instead of prostitute, a nun.

The merry torch burns with desire / To kindle the eternal fire, {168} / And lightly dances in thine eyes / To tunes of epithalamies.

The sheet tied ever to thy waist, / How thankful to be so embraced! / And see! thy very, very bands / Are bound to thee to bind such hands.

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