How my heart hurts,
for my lover's not here,
and now what will I do?
O ribbon for my hair,
5
you will never be used.
He's still in Castile,
either dead – God help me! –
or detained by the court.
O bonnets he gave me,
10
you will never be worn.
Though I may seem content,
I'm confused and upset,
so now what, dear sisters?
I'll gaze at myself
15
no more, O mirror.
These beautiful presents
are from him, dear friends,
I freely confess it.
O fine buckled belts,
20
you won't touch my waist.