ز آن جهان اندک ترشح می‌‌رسد ** تا نغرد در جهان حرص و حسد

A little trickle (of intelligence) is coming from yonder world, that cupidity and envy may not roar (too loudly) in this world.

گر ترشح بیشتر گردد ز غیب ** نی هنر ماند در این عالم نه عیب‌‌ 2070

If the trickle from the Unseen should become greater, in this world neither virtue nor vice will be left.

این ندارد حد سوی آغاز رو ** سوی قصه‌‌ی مرد مطرب باز رو

This (topic) has no bound. Go to the starting-point, go back to the tale of the minstrel.

بقیه‌‌ی قصه‌‌ی پیر چنگی و بیان مخلص آن‌‌

The remainder of the story of the old harper and the explanation of its issue (moral)

مطربی کز وی جهان شد پر طرب ** رسته ز آوازش خیالات عجب‌‌

That minstrel by whom the world was filled with rapture, from whose voice wondrous phantasies grew (arose in the minds of those who heard him),

از نوایش مرغ دل پران شدی ** وز صدایش هوش جان حیران شدی‌‌

At whose song the bird of the soul would take wing, and at whose note the mind of the spirit would be distraught—

چون بر آمد روزگار و پیر شد ** باز جانش از عجز پشه‌‌گیر شد

When time passed and he grew old, from weakness the falcon, his soul, became a catcher of gnats.

پشت او خم گشت همچون پشت خم ** ابروان بر چشم همچون پالدم‌‌ 2075

His back became bent like the back of a wine-jar, the brows over his eyes like a crupper-strap.

گشت آواز لطیف جان فزاش ** زشت و نزد کس نیرزیدی به لاش‌‌

His charming soul-refreshing voice became ugly and worth nothing to any one.

آن نوای رشک زهره آمده ** همچو آواز خر پیری شده‌‌

The tone that had (once) been the envy of Zuhra (Venus) was now like the bray of an old donkey.

خود کدامین خوش که او ناخوش نشد ** یا کدامین سقف کان مفرش نشد

Truly, what sweet one is there that did not become unsweet, or what roof that did not become a carpet?—