1. I say to myself as her ribs fold
Over embers whose coals have turned to ash:

2. God has decreed that you take refuge with a people
Upon whose vileness fate has cast its favors.

3. If good fortune ever smiles on their affairs,
Their deeds drip poverty from every pore.

4. Whoever visits them pulls his reins in fast,
Though composure overcome the bitterness he suffers.

5. Yet to bear the company of wretches is for the noble soul
An affliction, unmatched in all time past.