Cosi è l’uomo che non ha denari com’è l’uccel quand’è vivo pelato: li uomin di salutarlo li son cari – com’un malatto sel veggion da lato. E’ dolci pomi li paion amari, e ciò ch’elli od’e vede li è disgrato; per lu’ ritornan li cortes’avari: or quest’è ’l secol del pover malfato. Un rimedi’ha per lu’ in questo mondo: ched e’ s’affogh’anz’oggi che domane, ché fa per lu’ la mort’e non la vita. Ma que’ c’ha la sua borsa ben fornita, ogn’uom li dice: “Tu se’ me’ che ’l pane,” e ciò che vòl come mazza va a tondo.
The man who has no more the means to pay Is like a live bird plucked of every feather; His friends forget to greet him – that’s when they Don’t shun him like infection altogether. And what was sweet is bitter fruit today, While every sight and sound makes his soul sicken; Kindness itself grows hard and turns away, Thus fares the wretch whom poverty has stricken. The world’s one remedy for all this sorrow Is: “Go and drown yourself, you’re better dead; Do it today, don’t leave it for tomorrow.” But he whose stuffed purse shows him to be rich Is praised by all as better than fresh bread, And what he plans succeeds without a hitch.