From step to step it will delude,
And bring you to dismay.
Think of the wretched Courvoisier,
Who thus dies on a tree,
A death of shame, I’ve nought to blame,
But my own dishonesty.
Mercy on earth I’ll not implore,
To crave it would be vain,
My hands are dyed with human gore,
None can wash off the stain,