Madame Fortune, 'tis in vain
That you play the prude so plain!
Toil and struggle will supply me
With the favours you deny me.

You shall bow beneath my stroke;
I will bend you to my yoke.
You will drop your weapons idly —
But my wounds will gape so widely

That my blood will ebb away,
Quenched the courage once so gay;
In the fight I shall be glorious,
But shall perish when victorious.