Nay, Mother, that were but labor lost;
I have full oft My portents shown,
Whereby My wrath they might well have known;
Pestilence, war, and season of dearth,
The which should have brought repentance upon earth
For the sins which wrong My divinity.
But the worse they are plagued the worse they be,
Not thinking of wailful death for ever and aye.
’Tis all: “what care I? At the last a prayer I will say
And the merciful God will save me from harm.”