Continúo la marcha tristemente,
Pues el fin de este viaje fatigoso
Al reposo y quietud ha de mostrarle
Cuántas millas de ti me he distanciado.
El bruto va llevándome despacio,
Cargando con las penas que me agobian,
Cual si el pobre supiera por instinto,
Que el jinete no quiere apresurarse.
No lo azuza la punta enrojecida
Que a veces mi furor le hunde en el flanco,
A lo cual él responde con gruñidos
Más filosos que el hierro de mi espuela.
Pues con cada gruñido me recuerda
Que mi pena se acerca y tú te alejas.

How heavy do I journey on the way,
When what I seek, my weary travel's end,
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say,
'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!'
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider lov'd not speed being made from thee.
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on,
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide,
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me than spurring to his side;
For that same groan doth put this in my mind,
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.