LXXXVI.

And their baked lips, with many a bloody crack,[134] Sucked in the moisture, which like nectar streamed; Their throats were ovens, their swoln tongues were black, As the rich man's in Hell, who vainly screamed To beg the beggar, who could not rain back A drop of dew, when every drop had seemed To taste of Heaven--If this be true, indeed, Some Christians have a comfortable creed.