Day, night and everything
is against me,
the chattering of maidens
makes me weep,
and often sigh,
and, most of all, scares me.
O friends, you are making fun of me
you do not know what you are sayin
spare me, sorrowful as I am,
great is my grief,
advise me at least,
by your honour.
Your beautiful face,
makes me weep a thousand times,
your heart is of ice.
As a cure,
I would be revived
by a kiss.