Dear little bit of Ronsard

Dear little bit of Ronsard,

Little sweet one, little soft one,

Dearest hostess of my body,

You descend below, so weakly,

So pale, so meager, so lonely,

To the cold kingdom of the dead;

However simple, without remorse

For murder, poison, and bitterness,

Scorning favors and treasures,

So envied by the common man.

Passer-by, as I said: follow your fortune,

Don't disturb my rest, I'm sleeping.