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Thereupon the procuratrix rose and brought her a
second change of clothes after she had sprinkled water on her. She
recovered and sat upright and said to her sister the cateress,
"Onward, and help me in my duty, for there remains but this one song."
So the provisioneress again brought out the lute and began to sing
these verses:
"How long shall last, how long this rigor rife of woe
May not suffice thee all these tears thou seest flow?
Our parting thus with purpose fell thou dost prolong
Is't not enough to glad the heart of envious foe?
Were but this lying world once true to lover heart,
He had not watched the weary night in tears of woe.
Oh, pity me whom overwhelmed thy cruel will,
My lord, my king, 'tis time some ruth to me thou show.
To whom reveal my wrongs, O thou who murdered me?
Sad, who of broken troth the pangs must undergo!
Increase wild love for thee and frenzy hour by hour,
And days of exile minute by so long, so slow.
O Moslems, claim vendetta for this slave of Love,
Whose sleep Love ever wastes, whose patience Love lays low.


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