1. My Master, passion left me no excuse,
It destroyed your devotee,

2. Until I stumbled upon a robe,
Corruption crept into it and spread,

3. It belonged to a judge, they titled him
The father of interlocking,

4. He bequeathed it to a lad, whenever
The lad smelled it, he wished and cried,

5. And none but you, my Master, in
This merit has tangled,

6. So accept it, worn out
With yearning to kiss your neck,

7. And boast about it among the judges,
And drape it over your shoulders when the gathering intertwines,

8. And discard the blame of an ignorant one
If he reproaches you for accepting it,

9. For I asked its heir about it
And he said: I am not confused,

10. The nobility of eyes possessed it
And made it like a net.