A pilgrim gave me a comb made of ivory

May mercy be upon the morals of the pilgrims

I heard that once my dog had called me

That in some way, his heart had stayed with me

I threw the comb, for it was a bone

I should no longer be called a dog

Do not think that just because I drink my own vinegar

I will taste the sweetness of the Lord's candy

Be content, O soul, with a little

For you will see the king and the dervish as one

Why turn to the king with a request?

When you have placed greed on one side, there is kingship

And if self-pride leads you to inflate your belly

Then, turn your home into the direction of others’ faces