Do what you will, and may you bide in shame;

Dishonor every promise ever sworn,

Let each dear nuptial utterance burn in flame

As in base lust your fleeting worth is torn.

The sweetest angel may yet fall from grace,

So may you bide in second-circled hell

Where I forever see your anguished face

Stare up in torment from that fiery well.

Perdition granted, you may take your leave,

Smug Satan waits to clasp you at the gate —

Loss of true heart your soul shall yet bereave;

There is no time to dwell on love or hate.

Go as you must, for he now beckons you:

A smile discreet—the devil has his due.