I lament the wounds of Fortune
I lament the wounds of Fortune
with weeping eyes
because the gifts she made me
she takes away rebelliously.
It is true, what is read,
with a hairy head,
but often follows
a bald one.
On the throne of Fortune
I was raised up,
crowned with the various
flowers of prosperity;
whatever I flourished in
happy and blessed,
now I have fallen from the highest
prive of glory.
The wheel of Fortune turns:
I descend diminished;
another is raised up high;
too exalted
the king sits at the summit
beware of ruin!
for under the axis we read
of Queen Hecuba.