Eu cantarei de amor tão docemente, Por uns termos em si tão concertados, Que dois mil acidentes namorados Faça sentir ao peito que não sente. - Luís de Camões

Little by little it ebbs, this life,
if by any chance I am still alive;
my brief time passes before my eyes.
I mourn the past in whatever I say;
as each day passes, step by step
my youth deserts me—what persists is pain.

<small>To this old song:
Partridge lost his quill,
there's no harm won't befall him.</small> Partridge, whose winged fancy
aspired to a high estate,
lost a feather in his flight
and won the pen of despondency.
He finds in the breeze no buoyancy
for his pennants to haul him:
there's no harm won't befall him. He wished to soar to a high tower
but found his plumage clipped,
and, observing himself plucked, pines away in despair.
If he cries out for succor,
stoke the fire to forestall him:
there's no harm won't befall him.

Nem me falta na vida honesto estudo, Com longa experiência misturado, Nem engenho, que aqui vereis presente, Cousas que juntas se acham raramente.