A weakling babe, a greybeard old,
Surnamed the Dragon: me they hold
In darkest dungeon languishing
That I may be reborn a king.
A fiery sword makes me to smart,
Death gnaws my flesh and bones apart.
My soul and spirit fast are sinking,
And leave a poison, black and stinking.
To a black crow I am akin,
Such be the wages of all sin.
In deepest dust I lie alone,
O that the Three would make the One!
O soul, o spirit with me stay,
That I may greet the light of day.
Hero of peace, come forth from me,
Whom the whole world would like to see.
– Verus Hermes (1620)