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Ask me to be cruel, ungentle:
I will speak daggers to you, but use none;
My tongue and palms in this be instruments;
As blows my whim so ever you'll be bent,
In tearful squeals to fill the bounds of your consent!
You may repent: entreat me to move slow,
And tender. Or vouch no twine attach'd,
And mentor thee as councillor and confessor.
I will question then: you'll answer as I ask;
Your truth turn wise, we study both together.
So beg me cruel, or else beseech me kind:
Ecstatic pain, or lantern, map, and guide.
The word is yours, good lady.
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