You have left a garden for a small fig, losing a fairy for an old woman.
I tear my collar in regret; it's a pity that the old woman's flirtation struck the youth like an arrow.
An old woman with a big mouth, holding a hundred tricks and traps, has lowered her head from a roof to catch a clever one.
Who is this old woman? A deceitful one without flavor, layer upon layer like an onion and as smelly as garlic.
A young lord has become her captive, pledging his waist; she secretly laughs at the foolish young lord.
In the garden of her beauty, there is no fresh blossom; in the loyalty of that shrew, there is no milk.
You will see when death opens your eyes to her; her face is like the back of a lizard, and her body as black as tar.
No, be silent, give less advice; the master is very strong. He pulls the chain of love without the help of a small chain.