Devoted to slaughter, a price on my head,
A king’s lovely daughter watched by my bed.
How gently she dressed me, fainting with fear!
She never caressed me, nor wiped off a tear;
Ne’er moistened my lips, though parched and dry,
What marvel a blight should pursue and defy?
’Twas royalty nursed me wretched and poor;
’Twas royalty cursed me in secret, I’m sure.
I lived not, I died not, but tell you I must,
That ages have passed since I first turned to dust.