1. To God I complain of the persistence of sorrows,
And of the passing of time which has worn us out.

2. It inclines toward the mean and despicable,
And turns away from the noble and eminent.

3. Once it would smile from its countenance,
Now it bares its fangs.

4. Fate is submissive to every despicable person,
Yet for the noble it is nothing but war.

5. So inherit, O you of wisdom and dignity,
For your share is gloom and misery.

6. Its goal is to make the lofty one dust,
And its cheek is thrust to the ground.