ON THE DEATH OF RACHEL

Jacob weeps for his beloved Rachel's beauty,
which has withered to an early end,
which a powerful and mighty hand has cut off
from the deceptive tree of life.

He sees the purple rose transformed
to a livid colour, to empty dust,
and the grace of the most elegant body
brought to the earth and reduced to earth.

'Alas,' says he, 'how uncertain is joy! How vain is glory!
How deceptive our pleasure! How insecure our condition!
Who trusts in your green prime, inconstant life?

'For when she was at the height of her strength and charms,
death robbed me in an instant of a possession
that had cost me a weary time to win.