When I joined the monast'ry I knew not
what a brood of vipers we'd become:
far from reformed swains who heaven sought,
we were to holiness deaf, resilient and dumb.
Here father Ambrosio chased
a fair maiden into the ground;
in her sin to die and waste she's bound,
with her beauty the world's no longer graced.
And here, horror to o'ertop them all,
Father Ambrosio consorted with deviltry.
His error was not sinning by intent,
but letting his lies o'ertop his shame.
I hear Father Ambrosio cry in my dreams,
and I turn from him as from a poison'd stream.
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