For years now, my rooms have been filled with
Steps - my wife wanders there,
And gives me a painful service,
When I am sometimes pleasing.
Oh, my faithful one, how sharp your character is!
Gleaming with an iron compass,
How coldly you close the circle, miss,
Not heeding useless excuses.
You have hung on me a bunch of mortgages,
The strict motives of your scandals,
And - wise one - you milk my success
Non-stop, while I am still mobile.
Someday - from tears, from darkness,
From the poor pressure in vain
The beautiful features of our acquaintance
Will appear and dissolve again.