That is the lowly proletarian head
hung on the wall as if she were alive,
That piece of such body, now, My fellow’s hands
Drew a full-bleed-sword, and there she stands.
Will’t please you stand and look at her? I said
that’s “My superiority” , for never understand
a low man like you that execution,
The foolishness of her earnest manner,
But to myself they turned (since none dare
to see The punishment I have drawn for you)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
How such a glance came there; so not the first
Are you to turn and ask thus. My queen, ’twas not
Her face doesn’t seem to show regret, called the spot
Of joy into the girl’s smile; perhaps
my headsman failed to say, “Her collar
Over the girl’s neck too much,” or “Hanging
Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half – flush that dies along her throat,” Such stuff
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that spot of joy. She brought
to me – how shall I say? – such as a disgrace,
a lowly proletarian like her; she didn’t realize
with whom she stood, and how high did she step.
Sir, you knew! My son has fallen on her chest,
The only one of my little bright jewel,
A tangled weed with some officious fool
Broke in the shack for her, the white pale face
She rode with my highborn son – all and each

Would draw from her alike the fully embarrassment,
Or her touch, at least. I have warned, but she declined
Somehow – I know not how – as if she ranked
My pride of a seven descendants old name
With same anybody’s level. Who’d stoop to blame
This sort of trifling? Even had you pure
In deeds – which I have not – to make your will
Quite clear to such a body, and say “awfully cruel
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
Or there got beyond hers ” -and if she knew
Herself and did an opposite manner
her idiocy would, forsooth, be excused-
But she went so far; and I surely choose
Never to forgive. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,
When’er I looked her; she always passed with my
son’s hand in her clench. This grew; I gave commands;
Then her smiles stopped at once. There her head
hung as if alive. Will ‘t please you rise your head?
and never give such mourning. I repeat
The belly of my white great Begugha
Is more important than you just stand there
I prepare for highest dowry of mine;
Though your fair daughter’s self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay, we’ll go
through my palace to my hall, sir. you know
Kekuk Suik is such a man of rarity,
Which another king will be kneeling at me!