Worn out with rage and crying.

They raised this hut above my head,

Spread under me this heather bed.

And tended me with care.

When, strange to say, I soon revived,

Pains sharper e'en than death survived,

And had of health my share.

But still I lived here, lest a fresh attack

Might trip up my heels if I turned my back,

And stretch me again on the painful rack.