يا مَن جَفاني وَمَلّا

نَسيتَ أَهلاً وَسَهلا

O you who shunned me and grew weary,

Forgetting all welcome and warmth,

وَماتَ مَرحَبُ لَمّا

رَأَيتَ مالِيَ قَلّا

And the voice of greeting died the moment

You saw that my wealth had grown scarce.

إِنّي أَظُنُّكَ تَحكي

فيما فَعَلتَ القِرِلّى

I verily suspect that you mimic,

In these deeds of yours, the crested lark:

تَلقاهُ في الشَرِّ يَنأى

وَفي الرَخا يَتَدَلّى

You find it distancing itself in hardship,

Yet hovering close in times of ease.