You cannot sell that here; I will not buy
The spavined mount on which you toil toward woe
And which has brought you, armored still, to me
Again. Go grin and growl and smile and lie
To someone else. What youíve got to show
For all your quests is more than I can see.
Go away -- and donít come back tomorrow
On second thought as you have done before:
The second is no better than the first.
Now I know that I can match you, sorrow
Down to sorrow. Take your raw-rubbed sore
Of festering love away with you; youíve burst
Infected lust and spread its slimy pus
Once too often between the two of us.