In anger, a servant turned away from the king

He ordered to search for him, but no one found him

When he returned from the path of anger and conflict

The executioner, with sword in hand, said, 'Let his blood be spilled'

The executioner, thirsty for blood, unkind in nature

Drew out the dagger as if it were a parched tongue

I heard him say, with a heavy heart and a graying beard

O God, I have pardoned him his own blood

For I have always been in favor, in grace and in honor

I have been a friend in his fortune

May it not be that tomorrow, because of my blood

They take it, and his enemy rejoices

When the king heard this, it reached his ears

His rage was no longer stirred, the pot of anger did not boil

He gave him many commands, kissed his eyes in respect

The master of the standard became, with drums and horns

With gentleness, he reached such a daunting position

His time led him to such a place

The lesson of this tale is that soft words

Are like water on the fire of an angry man

Be humble, my friend, with the harsh adversary

For softness will make the sword cut sharper

Do you not see that when in the line of sword and arrow

They cover themselves with a hundred silk garments