You want to see my shape cut?
I care not.
Can you tie a proper knot?
Does your patience stand the test
of sailors hoisting masts?
When this I don, it is my pleasure.
Yours, sir? It matters naught.
I know it pleases thee, such from this do I draw your reaction.
Lie down. Lay down. Bow at my altar.
For what I do is for me and not for thee.
Cowards of necessity cower in my wake;
and, from me, you produce not a single shake.
Make yourself and leave me to be what Æ wilt.
My impatience becomes me and makes the Fool of thee.
Know your place because I find mine sans shame.
You speak of power; but, from me thoust draws thine.