Why this rage, my darling, that inflames you?

Why this rage, my darling, that inflames you?

I am conscious of no sin.

Ah, rather take a well-sharpened knife

And come to me, and pierce my breast.

And if a knife does not serve, take a sword,

That the fountain of my blood ascends to heaven.

And if a sword doesn't serve, take a steel dagger

And wash in my blood all my torment.