Bequeth thy maiden, thy glorieth faiden
with baquets of thy tears, for all the fears
Anger on angels filleth, on her the trouble beith
For upon the maiden, the angels have cast their youth
singeth a song of laughter, for oh thy matter
On the day the womb bringeth, the first of troubles beith
Ohh clap thy maiden's feet, for which gladly lay feast
For upon the maiden, the angels have cast their youth
All the years celebrate, for all the waste ullulate
Thy maiden has laiden, carry with bitter hardens
Poor purple silk robes covereth, thy bones of lament layeth
For upon thy own flesh, gladly gnashed
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