His mother was a vot’ress of my order: And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, Full often hath she gossip’d by my side; And sat with me on Neptune’s yellow sands, Marking the embarked traders on the flood; When we have laugh’d to see the sails conceive, And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind; Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait Following,—her womb then rich with my young squire,— Would imitate; and sail upon the land, To fetch me trifles, and return again, As from a…
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she embarked upon a new career
Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.