Good creatures, do you love your lives
And have you ears for sense?
Here is a knife like other knives,
That cost me eighteen pence.

I need but stick it in my heart
And down will come the sky,
And earth's foundations will depart
And all you folk will die.

*

I to my perils
Of cheat and charmer
Came clad in armour
    By stars benign.
Hope lies to mortals
And most believe her,
But man's deceiver
    Was never mine.

The thoughts of others
Were light and fleeting,
Of lovers' meeting
    Or luck or fame.
Mine were of trouble,
And mine were steady,
So I was ready
    When trouble came.