Sackcloth and Cowl

Have I wronged you, my former friends,
Or murdered a dear wife or child,
That bitter hatred goes so wild
Against the wretch it reprehends.  
Your opened jaws are like a cowl
That fastens on my skull and gnaws.
You injure me more than cruel laws
Have ever punished the most foul.  
Your living children prosper, sons
Have fathered sons, an added share
Of blessings, more than wheedling prayer
Importuned in its orisons.
Not even multiplied, but squared,  
Your health, and wealth, and progeny
Can’t give one fraction of the glee
Sucked from how badly I have fared.  
My suffering will not suffice
And so to sweeten your sick joy
You mock the soul these plagues destroy.
To you my hell is paradise.    
I wear this sackcloth as a shirt
But your abhorrent discipline
Would stitch the mantle on like skin
And take your pleasure in my hurt.  
No needle boring through my hide
Could hurt as much as how you pour
Gall on a bleeding, open sore,
Or how you smirk when you deride.  
To you, my agony is bliss
And your enjoyment of my grief
Keelhauls my tatters on a reef,  
Friends who accuse by a false kiss.  
I may deserve the punishment
The Lord has sent to chastise me,
But there’s no crime, no perfidy
Merits your passion to torment.