O BITTER sprig! Confession sprig!
 In the bouquet I give you place also--I bind you in,
 Proceeding no further till, humbled publicly,
 I give fair warning, once for all.

 I own that I have been sly, thievish, mean, a prevaricator, greedy,
 derelict,
 And I own that I remain so yet.

 What foul thought but I think it--or have in me the stuff out of
 which it is thought?
 What in darkness in bed at night, alone or with a companion?