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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: IX
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ON HER WAYWARDNESS
 This is rank slavery. It better were
 To till the thankless earth with sweat of brow,
 Following dull oxen `neath a goad of care
 To a boor`s grave agape behind the plough.
 It better were to linger in some slow
 Unnatural case, the sport of flood or fire,
 To be undone by some inhuman vow
 And robbed in youth of youth and its desire.
 It better were to perish than thus live
 Thy pensioner and bondsman, day by day
 Doing fool`s service thus for love of thee.
 How shall I save thee if thou wilt not grieve
 Even for shames like these? How shall I slay
 The foes thou lovest, thou, their enemy?
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