The Last Supper

Marie Vaux of the Painted Lips, And the mouth so mocking gay, A wanton you to the finger-tips, Who break men's hearts in play; A thing of dust I have striven for, Honour and manhood given for, Headlong to ruin driven for, And this is the last, you say. . . . Drinking your wine with dainty sips, Marie Vaux of the Painted Lips. Marie Vaux of the Painted Lips, ong have you held your sway; I have laughed at your merry quips - Now is my time to pay. What we sow we must reap again; When we laugh we must weep again; So to-night we will sleep again, Nor wake until Judgement Day. . . . 'Tis a poisoned wine that your palate lips, Marie Vaux of the Painted Lips. Marie Vaux of the Painted Lips, Down on your knees and pray; Pray your last ere the moment slips, Pray ere the dark and the terror grips, And the bright world fades away. Pray for the peace and the rest of us: Here comes the Shape in quest of us, Now we must go away. . . . You and I in the grave's eclipse, Marie Vaux of the painted Lips.