Go, love, for you have become the most perfect of the lovely ones; you have smitten the necks of penitence and the penitent.
What can one rely upon with your love?—for you are such a thunderbolt. Who can associate with you?—for you are all brawling.
Neither earth nor heaven can stand or withstand you; you are not in these six directions, so whence have you come?
The eight paradises are in love with you; how beautiful is your face! The seven hells tremble at you; what a fire temple you are!
Hell says to you, “Pass, for I cannot endure you.” You are the Paradise of Paradise and were the Hell of Hell.
Lovers’ eyes are wet on their skirts because of your sweet eyes; you are the provocation and brigand of every ascetic man and woman.
To be without you in the cloister is nothing but madness, for you are the very life of the cloister and temple.
Give justice to my ruined heart, O judge of love!—for you have taken tribute from my ruined village.
Simple heart of mine, from whom do you seek justice? It is lawful to love to shed blood, if you are of this guild.
Justice for lovers is beyond the bounds of the soul; you are engaged in useless thought and fancy.
Only the angels’ attributes are privy to love for sure; you are a prisoner of the attributes of donkey and d¯ıv and wild beast.
Enough, practice not magic; first deliver yourself, for you are the prisoner of the passion for magic and jugglery.
