Samson, seeking my presence again, 
this evening is to come to this place. 
Here is the hour of vengeance, 
which must satisfy our gods. 
Love! come aid my weakness! 
Pour the poison in his breast! 
Let him be conquered by my artfulness, 
Samson will be in fetters tomorrow! 
In vain he wishes to chase me out of his soul,  

to banish me. 
Could he extinguish the flame 
that memory feeds? 
He is mine! my slave! 
My brothers fear his wrath; 
I, alone against all, I defy him 
and hold him at my knees! 
Love! come aid my weakness! 
Pour the poison in his breast! 
Let him be conquered by my artfulness, 
Samson will be in fetters tomorrow! 
 

Against love, his strength is useless, 
and he, the strongest of the strong, 
he, who broke his people's chains, 
will succumb to my efforts.