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?