My best to friends and foes I'll cease not to do,
For the winds that ventilate the universe are not stirred by you;
The time is yours the worst to hit;
He presents himself to you this Lord servant for whatever treat
A malicious heart my conceive, whatever deadly ignominy:
I ask no iota of favor from the enemy.
Exhaust your sting and make good your venom;
That can only be the adversary's norm,
And I shall do my best to God and man,
And sure as death I'll sit on the thrones of success in return!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem