Thee , O world-father who with conquering sword
The Rhine hast humbled, O most modest lord,
The cities thank for people: in thy time
To bring forth children is at last no crime.
No boy, polluted by a pander's art,
Mourns for his manhood now, no mother's heart
Is wrung by grief when to her child she shows
The pittance which the haughty pimp allows.
The shame our marriage-beds had lost, by thee
Even in brothels we begin to see.