1. Alas, O men of arts, what excuse is there for my sin
If poetry must have some reproach

2. Because when I composed it and strung the verses together
I praised with it one who was never free from vileness

3. Abase pimp - to him I addressed my poems
Yet I gained no fertile land from him

4. I loaded them with all manner of wonders
Of clear gems and moist gold

5. But when they drew near to his understanding they went astray
And I gained from him no spacious lodging

6. I lied about him in that which I brought to him
So I was punished by being deprived of lying

7. Curse a world that made me need the likes of him
How many lions has it made need dogs!