To him that sits on the left: "Brother, -- with you?"
-- "Nay, not with me, save thou subscribe and swear
`Religion hath black eyes and raven hair':
Nought else is true."

Debarred of banquets that my heart could make
With every man on every day of life,
I homeward turn, my fires of pain to slake
In deep endearments of a worshiped wife.
"I love thee well, dear Love," quoth she, "and yet
Would that thy creed with mine completely met, [41]
As one, not two."

Assassin! Thief! Opinion, 'tis thy work.
By Church, by throne, by hearth, by every good
That's in the Town of Time, I see thee lurk,
And e'er some shadow stays where thou hast stood.
Thou hand'st sweet Socrates his hemlock sour;
Thou sav'st Barabbas in that hideous hour,
And stabb'st the good

Deliverer Christ; thou rack'st the souls of men;
Thou tossest girls to lions and boys to flames; [51]
Thou hew'st Crusader down by Saracen;
Thou buildest closets full of secret shames;
Indifferent cruel, thou dost blow the blaze
Round Ridley or Servetus; all thy days
Smell scorched; I would

-- Thou base-born Accident of time and place --