For there the Babe is born in joy
That was begotten in dire woe;
Just as we reap in joy the fruit
Which we in bitter tears did sow.
And if the Babe is born a boy
He's given to a Woman Old,
Who nails him down upon a rock,
Catches his shrieks in cups of gold.
She binds iron thorns around his head,
She pierces both his hands and feet,
She cuts his heart out at his side,
To make it feel both cold and heat.
Her fingers number every nerve,
Just as a miser counts his gold;
She lives upon his shrieks and cries,
And she grows young as he grows old.
Till he becomes a bleeding Youth,
And she becomes a Virgin bright;
Then he rends up his manacles,
The scenery is meant to be creepy, almost as if the female is patiently taking away bits of his youth and not caring about the pain inflicting upon him and causing him to suffer. As this happens, his suffering transfers into her youth, comparing the suffering of the old going away and the innocence of the young
The Mental Traveller