I shall not be the tale of a misused man,
A future tale for the people living after us,
If my mind were well, following
The fatal attraction of your true voice,
 
Chaste prophetess, and truly to be pitied.
To warn me you often give me the prediction
That I will die, Cassandre, serving you;
But my misfortune does not make you at all believable.
 
For your fate which conceals my death (from me),
And which forces me not to believe you,
Hides your oracles in a false hope.
 
And if I see clearly, given the position I’m in,
That you speak the truth, anyway, I cannot
Un-knot the cord from round my neck.