'Chunnsch mi über,' seits und lacht, 'und witt mi, se hol mi!' All' wil en andere Weg, und alliwil anderi Sprüngli!

But least the feare of death appall my mind, Sweet gentlemen, let me this fauour find, That you wil vale mine eyesight with this scarfe; That, when the fatall stroke is aymde at me, I may not start but suffer patiently.

But yet if in your hardned brest ye bide A close intent at last to shew me grace, Then all the woes and wrecks which I abide, As meanes of blisse I gladly wil embrace; And wish that more and greater they might be, That greater meede at last may turne to mee.

No good monsieurs. Wil.