The Burnings

“Husband, send me something that I may die or I must expire under torture. If thow canst not today, then tomorrow…”

— Rebeca Lent, imprisoned on charges of witchcraft, 1590

Send me something, that I may die,

if not today, then tomorrow:

last proof of love, the dearest sigh,

that ever thy vows could hallow.

Tell me something, that I may go,

if not in peace, gentler grieving:

Why do the living fear death so

they make life fit but for leaving?

So cold the means to force the lie

that ever after should sorrow;

that mercy mock, justice deny,

and love's fullest heart gouge hollow.

Ask me something, though ought I know,

and as I yield, no more keep me.

Let passion's air disrobe my soul

and shameless recall my being.