One of his meals consisted only of onions

Like others, he had neither leaves nor a melody

A wanderer said to him, 'O humble one'

'Go and bring a dish from the feast of the plunderers'

Ask, but do not beg from anyone, O master, have no fear

For a cut-off livelihood is a shameful thing

He fastened his cloak and swiftly stretched his hand

They tore his cloak and broke his hand

I heard him saying and crying tears of blood

'O soul, what remedy is there for the self-inflicted?'

One who seeks misfortune will be caught by greed

Me and my home after, and bread and onions

The sustenance I earn through the effort of my arm

Is better than the food on the table of the generous

How heavy was the sleep of that lowly soul last night

Who had his ear at the table of others