Whate’er is born of mortal birth Must be consumèd with the earth, To rise from generation free: Then what have I to do with thee?

The sexes sprung from shame and pride, Blowed in the morn, in evening died; But mercy changed death into sleep; The sexes rose to work and weep.

Thou, mother of my mortal part, With cruelty didst mould my heart, And with false self-deceiving tears Didst blind my nostrils, eyes, and ears,

Didst close my tongue in senseless clay, And me to mortal life betray. The death of Jesus set me free: Then what have I to do with thee?