1. When I begin with wit, my lord
I see you disturbed by my wit

2. And if I compose poetry in its field
No doubt, my brother, you split

3. When I say wit, I say it
Hastily, and your nature is gentle with mine

4. Why do I see you not like me in it
Pretending with nonsense, burning

5. I surpass in wit as I see it
And when I speak, I am truthful

6. If you were a lion, fading in wit
You would see, poor one, me scattered

7. And wit I have said, breathing
Do what you have said, O tattered one