Death. For all thy gold I little care;
Do thou at once for death prepare.
’Tis vain to pray, ’tis vain to grieve;
Come in my ranks, for thou art mine—
Thy gold behind to others leave.
King. But give to me—
Angel. The King did say—
King. But half a year and yet a day;
I fain would build a castle new
Of massive stone, with lofty tower,