A woman who performs for a living has just lost the man she loves. She refuses to dance for the crowd, calling them pigs and insisting she won’t lay her womanhood before them. Her anger is not really about the audience—it comes from grief. She repeats that he is dead, almost as if no one will listen, and remembers holding his head as he died. The people around her keep pushing her to go on, shouting and stamping, but she only wants to sit beside his body. Her words are raw and physical: pigs, hogs, lechers, stamping swine. That harshness creates a mood of pain and furious resistance. The repetition of “I will not dance” and “he is dead” makes the grief feel urgent and unstoppable, like a woman breaking down while the world insists she perform.
The Dancer — Summary
I WILL not dance : I say I will not dance. Your audience, pah, let them go home again, Sleek, ugly pigs. Am I to hop and prance As long as they will pay, And posture for their eyes, and lay My womanhood before them ? Let them drain Their porter pots and snuffle — I'll not stay.
For he is dead : I tell you he is dead. My God, did you not hear me say it Twice already ? I held his groaning head In these remembering arms, And cursed the charms That could not stop his going. Must I bay it Like a dog to you ? Quit your alarms !
They shout and stamp ? Then, let them shout and stamp, Those booted hogs and lechers — I'm away To sit beside my dead. O God, you tramp Upon me too, and twine More sorrows round me than are mine With holy unconcern. . . Don't bar my way, I'm going to my dead . . . Ah-h-h, stamping swine !