All my locks loose, and covered you with them—

You, Sebald, the same you!

Sebald. Slower, Ottima—

Ottima. And as we lay—

Sebald. Less vehemently! Love me!
Forgive me! take not words, mere words, to heart!
Your breath is worse than wine. Breathe slow, speak slow!

Do not lean on me!

Ottima. 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! nought completes such bliss
But woe!' Who said that?

Sebald. How did we ever rise?
Was't that we slept? Why did it end?

Ottima. I felt you,
Tapering into a point the ruffled ends
Of my loose locks 'twixt both your humid lips—

(My hair is fallen now: knot it again!)

Sebald. I kiss you now, dear Ottima, now, and now!
This way? Will you forgive me—be once more
My great queen?

Ottima. Bind it thrice about my brow;

Crown me your queen, your spirits' arbitress,
Magnificent in sin. Say that!

Sebald. I crown you
My great white queen, my spirits' arbitress,
Magnificent...