In youth I flew high in the air,
Or bathed upon the water fair,
My person white with slender waist,
On either side with fringes graced,
Till me that tyrant man espied,
And dragged me from my mother’s side:
My skin he flayed, my hair he cropped,
At head and foot my body lopped.
And then with heart more hard than stone,
He picked my marrow from the bone,
Such torture did that tyrant wreak,
He slit my tongue to make me speak:
Though mute to ears I speak to eyes.
Disguised I tell a thousand lies,
From me no secret e’er can hide;
I witness malice, lust and pride:
All languages I can command,
Yet not a word I understand.