And I think
That you will give up your ancestral home
And garden too. And can I after that
Recover my good gun?
I shall not be
Enfeebled that I am no more with you.
No longer are you father unto me,
And I shall be no more your cherished son.
I think, my sire, that you are growing old.
Your teeth are falling out from day to day.
They whom you visit will not serve you more.
Your friends won't serve you longer, and your sire,
He who begot you, will not help you now.
In your adversity no help will come
From all your kindred's high nobility.
May God make easy all the paths you tread!
His uncle having threatened him with death, he answered:
Keep far away from him who has not come
To thee in his misfortune. Leave him free.
My uncle writes to me this very day
That if he held in his own hands the leaf
Of my life's destiny he'd blot it out.
If he had in his hands this leaf, O say to him:
Let him efface it openly, nor hide
You'll not be able, save with God's own help
To bear the separation.
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