A young man, distressed by his unruly mate,

Complained to an elder, stating his state.

This burden I bear from my overpowering foe

Is as heavy as the millstone below.

Endure it with strength, said the elder wise,

No one regrets patience; it's a noble prize.

At night, be the upper stone, O house destroyer,

Why not the lower stone during the day’s toil?

If from a rosebush you’ve enjoyed delight,

It’s fair to bear its thorns without spite.

The tree whose fruits you constantly consume,

Endure its thorns, even in gloom.