  Madam Fortune, thou in vain Act’st the coy one! I can gain By my own exertions merely All thy favours prized so dearly. Thou art overcome by me, To the yoke I fasten thee; Thou art mine beyond escaping— But my bleeding wounds are gaping. All my red blood gushes out, My life’s courage to the rout Soon is put; I’m vanquish’d lying, And in victory’s hour am dying. |
|
