Our desire for beautiful people increases,

That one's beauty might never die,

But as one's beauty disappears over time,

His offspring will inherit it:

But you, focused on your own bright eyes,

Feed them with only the sight of yourself,

Creating a famine where there is plenty,

You are your own enemy.

Your beauty is now the world's decoration,

Only a messenger to the showy spring,

Your content is buried within yourself,

And, tender peasant, waste your time hoarding.

Take pity on the world, and do not in utter selfishness,

Allow yourself to consume your own posterity.