He who counsels me, concerning love,
that I must depart from her,
does not know who keeps me wakeful
nor whence come my sad sighs.
He who wishes to put me right
has little understanding or acuity,
nor has he ever loved in his life;
he who turns his hand to a craft
in which he has no expertise
commits a very foolish error.

Ah! white, radiant and rose-coloured one,
my sad sighs are for you,
because you make Right and Reason
go amiss in such an astonishing way.
If I wish to have you as a lover
Right could not consent to it,
for your great courtliness,
adorned with great beauty,
does not think it fitting to help me in that regard.
It is to my misfortune that I heard you praised so much.

A feeble heart loses resolve
and abandons itself to die of fear;
a vigorous one girds itself
to defend itself, emboldened.
Lady, nothing further that I might say
avails me, for I ask too much;
if a little baseness,
enflamed by wickedness,
causes you to delay your mercy,
then it is to my misfortune that I saw you and I seek my death.

In my heart a trellis arises
all ready to flower:
refined, delicate and good love,
for whomsoever should think it fitting to gratify it.
But a love which is not gratified
cannot gladden the heart;
I see clearly that if death does not discipline
my desire, my enemy,
I cannot desist from my fair crime,
nor relinquish my excess.