Thy pity being promised me, I have no fear of sin.
With the provision that Thou possessest, I have no disquiet
about the journey. Thy benevolence renders my
visage white and of the black book I have no fear.
Be not led to believe that I fear the world, or that I
have fear of dying, or of seeing my soul go its way.
Death being a truth, I have no fear of it. What I fear
is that I have not lived well.
How long shall we be slaves to reason and to every
day? What matters it whether we remain a hundred
years in this world, or whether we dwell here but a day?
Go, bring some wine in a bowl before we are transformed
into pitchers in the workshop of some potter.
How long will you blame us, O ignorant man of God!
We are the patrons of the tavern, we are constantly overcome
with wine. You are given up entirely to your
chaplet, to your hypocrisy, and your infernal machinations.
We, cup in hand and always near the object of our love,
live in accordance with our desires.
Let us sell the diadem of Khan, the crown of Kai, let
us sell it and buy the sound of a flute let us sell the
turban and the silken cassock, yea, for a cup of wine let
us sell the chaplet which in itself contains naught but
hypocrisy.