If it were possible mere grief could slay, How many are now alive who would be dead: Myself for one, since Lucifer the Dread Forbears to snatch me body and soul away. Not that my sufferings are less, I say, For hell contains no punishment so dire, No pangs of tribulation in the fire, Compared with all I undergo today. Therefore I wish that I had not been born, Or born a thing unfeeling, since of late I find no way to lessen sorrow’s sum. And being in this manner most forlorn, I’d welcome the arrival of the date, So long foretold, when Antichrist should come.
translated by: C.H. Scott and Anthony Mortimer