Verse 1
With envious impotent desire,
The creatures wallowing in the mire,
The human herd he sees,
But no delight in sin can taste,
Harast, and quite worn out at last
In Satan’s drudgeries.
Verse 2
His wishes, were they all fulfil’d,
No real happiness could yield,
The filthy sinful kind
Could never satisfy his need;
On vanity themselves they feed,
On ashes, husks, and wind.