When I was lying sick in bed
The Fates said, 'Come, we'll have some sport.
   Your mother's life,' they said, 'is done:
You have no strength in hand or foot,
   And she is calling for her son.'

A second blow struck down my love,
And she was taken from my side -
   The one who watched me night and day;
And strangers came and offered help,
   But all their love was talk of pay.

And then the Fates struck out again:
They filled these strangers with distrust,
   That I had done my love some wrong:
'Ah, cruel Fates,' thought I, 'you lose,
   For now you make my spirit strong.'