Go and mind your own business, preacher! What's all this ado? My heart has left your pious path, but what is it to you? Until his lips have played me like the flute I love to hear, The world's advice will just be wind blustering in my ear. Within his bodied being, which God created out of naught Is a crux that nobody in all creation can unknot. A beggar in your street disdains eight heavens, undistressed. The captive in your locks is free of this world and the next, And even though I've fallen wasted, drunk on my love for you, My being, built upon that waste, will stand forever true. Oh heart, do not bewail the Friend's injustice and cruel whim, The fate the Friend has given you is just for you from him. Go! No more cant or incantation. Enough of the tales you tell. I've heard those tales and spells before. I know them all too well.