Whose salt had lost no savour.
From this world they are gone away,
The diadem they've gained!
Honest, like God's good children, they
For his word life disdained,
And have become his martyrs.

The ancient foe on them laid hold,
With terrors did enwrap them;
To lie against God's word them told,
With cunning would entrap them:
From Louvaine too, to see the game
And in his crust nets take them,
Many a sophist gathered came:
The Spirit fools did make them--
Their cunning could gain nothing.

Oh! they sung sweet, and they sung sour;
Oh! they tried every double;
The boys they stood firm as a tower,
And mocked the sophists' trouble.
The serpent old it filled with hate
To be thuswise defeated
By two such youngsters--he, so great!--
His wrath sevenfold was heated,
And he resolved to burn them.

Their cloister-garments off they tore,
Undid their consecrations;
All this the boys were ready for,