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The GOD who crowned success
Had married him to chance
That they may come together
And have toil as their mother.
His crown of pride do shine
So do his cloak so fine
His wife so wavering
May desert him mourning.
On his mother does he feed
And gain strength for his deeds
Mad in pursuit and in desire
Mother's blood do he require.
You gain a world of delight
for a life full of light
Your life of toil do take
All the joys yourself do make.
You get as much from chance
So she takes from yoy hence
And nothing can gain heaven's grace
Even with one's life's expence.
