If I had a golden crest
Would I lay it on your breast
Would rather dash it to a pest
For you have been cursed by the priest
All I thought was wealth
You rubbed with dearth
For now I wait at Perth
For no other than death
And for that I curse my birth
Broken forever is our bond
The pain will always pound
And the truth a pack of hounds
Like a defeaning sound
Harped by a dead band
Had all your deeds been right
Would you have offered to write
Unto me, for now, all is right
And my life, I will to a wright
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem