قَد أَذهَبَ الداءُ حُسّادي بِكَثرَتِهِم

وَلَو فَنوا عَزَّ دائي مَن يُداويني

The enviers’ illness their multitudes conferred

And if my foes perished, who then can cure me?

لا عِشتُ خِلواً مِنَ الحُسّادِ إِنَّهُمُ

أَعَزُّ فَقداً مِن اللائي أَحَبّوني

Had I lived free of enviers, they’re indeed

More precious in loss than those who loved me.

أَبقى لِيَ اللَهُ حُسّاداً وَغَمَّهُمُ

حَتى يَموتوا بِداءٍ غَيرِ مَكنونِ

May God make enviers live, and their sorrow,

Until they die of an illness unconcealed.