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?