Almost gone, a bit less than being dead,
Living in grief without any comfort
You can see me chosen by Fortune
Who without cease, worse than any other, oppresses me
And battles me harder and harder.

Alas I am against my will alive
And so there is nothing which I desire so much
As to be able to see my end very close;
I cannot die and yet I always wish it
And it is so slow that I am always turning aside
To that end which may be empty of pain.

They tell me that death holds a grudge against me,
Since otherwise it would make an effort
To take revenge on me for my unwelcome life;
For I despond, without any joy,
Through my misfortune which devours and kills me.

  Almost gone, a bit less than being dead,
  Living in grief without any comfort
  You can see me chosen by Fortune
  Who without cease, worse than any other, oppresses me
  And battles me harder and harder.