Si me amas, reprocha a la fortuna,
Diosa culpable de mis actos viles,
No brindarme sino medios vulgares
Que vulgares modales me enseñaron.
Esa marca mi nombre lleva impresa,
Y me tiñe igual que los colores
Que impregnan la tez del tintorero.
Compadéceme, ansía que yo cambie,
Mientras yo, cual un paciente dócil
Con sorbos de vinagre el mal combato:
Ninguna amargura sabrá amarga
Ni penitencia alguna rigurosa.
Compadéceme, amigo, y te aseguro.
Tu piedad bastará para curarme.

O! for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,
That did not better for my life provide
Than public means which public manners breeds.
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,
And almost thence my nature is subdued
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand:
Pity me, then, and wish I were renewed;
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink
Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection;
No bitterness that I will bitter think,
Nor double penance, to correct correction.
Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye,
Even that your pity is enough to cure me.