Whate'er is born of mortal birth Must be consumed 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?
