Alas, my aged mother, why on my ruin bent?
’Twas you that did betray me, but I am innocent.
“Tormentors, use your pleasure, and do as you think best;
I hope my blessed Jesus will take my soul to rest.”
Soon as these words were spoken, up steps the man of death,
And kindled up the fire to stop her mortal breath.
Instead of golden bracelets, with chains they bound her fast;
She cried, “My God give power, now must I die at last?
With Jesus and his angels forever I shall dwell;
God pardon priest and people, and so I bid farewell.”