This page needs to be proofread.
THE WIZARD 367
Wag love unto thee with the tail, Giving myself, in eager franzy?
In vain !
Sting on !
Cruellest of stings !
Not a dog thy game merely am I,
Cruellest of huntsmen !
Thy proudest prisoner,
Thou robber behind the clouds . . .
Speak at last !
Thou who art veiled in lightnings ! Unknown !
Speak ! What wilt thou, waylayer, from me ?
What ? A ransom ?
What wilt thou ransom ? Demand much ! Thus my pride counselleth ! And be brief ! Thus mine other pride coun- selleth !
Ha! Ha!
Myself wilt thou ? myself ? Myself ? the whole of me ?
Ha! Ha!
And thou torturest me, fool that thou art !
�� �
