What certain guidance do you seek,
ill-fated heart, disgusted with life,
friend to tears and enemy to laughter?
How will you bear the wrongs that are before you?
Hasten, then, to the death that awaits you.
Through your anguish you prolong your days:
the more distant your delightful resting-place
the more you wish to flee from pleasing Death.
With open arms she has come out in the street,
her eyes crying with excess of delight.
I hear the melodious singing of her voice,
saying: "Friend, leave this strange abode.
I take delight in granting you my favour,
which no man born has ever felt before,
for I flee from every man who calls me,
and I take the one who would escape my rigour."
With crying eyes and face of terror,
tearing her hair with fearsome howls,
Life wants to grant me her inheritance
and make me lord of all those gifts,
crying with a dreadful and distressing voice,
just as Death calls out to the fortunate
(for if man is prepared for suffering,
the voice of Death is sweet to him).
I know no man or woman of my like,
who, pained by Love, arouses pity;
I am that one who deserves compassion,
for the blood drains away from my heart.
Lily among thorns, the hour approaches
in which my civil life draws to its close;
although all hope has long deserted me,
my condemned soul remains upon the earth.
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