شَكَوْتُ إِلَى مَرْحَبٍ عِلَّةً

فَصَرَّحَ فِي الرَّاحِ لِي بِالْمَلاَمِ

I complained to Marhab of an ailment,

And he spoke plainly, blaming me for wine.

وَقَالَ أَخَافُ غَلِيْظَ الشَّرَابِ

وَلَسْتُ أَخَافُ غَلِيْظَ الطَّعَامِ

He said, “I fear potent drink,

Though I do not fear heavy food.

وَأَنْتَ لَطِيْفٌ حَدِيْدُ المِزَاجِ

نَحِيْفُ الجَوَارِحِ عَارِي العِظَامِ

You are delicate, of a fiery constitution,

Thin of limb, your bones laid bare.

فَلاَ تَجْمَعَنًّ عَلَيْكَ الضَّنَى

بِنَارِ المِزَاجِ وَنَارِ المُدَامِ

So do not heap wasting sickness upon yourself

With the fire of your constitution and the fire of wine.

فَإِنْ تَكُنِ الرَّاحُ تَنْفِي الهُمُومَ

فَرُبَّتَهَا عَرَّضتْ لِلسَّقَامِ

For though wine may banish cares,

Many a time it has laid one open to sickness.”