human
Too bad! the Woman cried;
gpt
Oh, why, Does slumber not benumb me? A disposition! Oh, I die To know if 'twill become me!
human
No doubt 'Twill be extremely fine, ma'am, Though sure 'tis long to be without-- I beg to lend you mine, ma'am.
gpt
Halt! Who goes there? The answer came:
human
Death--in the air.
gpt
Advance, Death--give the countersign, Or perish if you cross that line! To change his tone Death thought it wise-- Reminded him they 'd been allies Against the Russ, the Frank, the Turk, In many a bloody bit of work.
human
In short, said he,
gpt
The sentry would not let him pass.
human
Go back, he growled,