Victory, my heart!
Weep no more.
Low servitude to love
is over.

The ungodly woman
deceived you
with glances and glances
and untrue caress;

Deceit and sorrow
have no more place,
The embers of her cruel fire
have gone out!
Her laughing eyes don't shoot
arrows any longer,
which struck a mortal wound
in my breast:

Neither grief nor torment
worry me any longer;
every snare is broken,
and fear has disappeared.