Victory, my heart!

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.