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Where are the merchants who used to chase after me to purchase my favours? O malevolent Time! Nowadays, they abhor my company; when I call for them, there is no answer. How has my merchandise been…
Hey, women, spotted with typhus and riddled with rakes of fingers
Across autumn heads of woe,
Are you fruitful? Do you multiply? How many times each?
In whorehouses? On floors?
In the stable? In…
All things I can endure, save one.
The bare, blank room where is no sun;
The parcelled hours; the pallet hard;
The dreary faces here within;
The outer women’s cold regard;
The Pastor’s iterated “sin”…