I. I take myself away from a lady and leave her, for I do not wish her companionship, since I see that she goes aslant and follows another path; for I was faithful and true to her and without any deceit, for by my faith I loved her above all things. Let her do what is good for her, for she will be obliged to do it, if she pledges herself to have me.
II. I prize not a puff a lady who is such that she takes one and leaves another: such a one does no courtesy. Often she lends her quiver, no man seeks there in vain, as I believe; for she has abundant mercy, that I know well, and many others, by my faith.
III. Not a wild plum would I give for her love, although she tries her simpering ways on me; why should I conceal it from you? When I see her, I hold it burdensome, even if she could behave differently. Do you know why? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . May God who upholds me give her what is fitting to her.
IV. The beauty which she had has indeed fallen off, and borage is of no avail to her nor any cosmetic there may be, and this is but natural now that her youth is vanishing. And whoever sees her, this appears clearly to him in her bearing: she behaves ill, and will behave ever worse.
