You ask my wish-the boon I crave,
O grant it-leave me what I have:
Leave me to rest upon my bed,
With broken heart, and weary head.
No stormy passions now arise,
Nor tears relieve these suffering eyes;
No age-no love disturbs me now,
To God's avenging power I bow.
You've yielded to a wicked crew,
Who ruin me, and laugh at you;
Sweep out the gore, and while you can,
Think for yourself, and be a man.