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To Horatio

Friend, there is no more time for guitars, feathers,
Creditors, hilarious duels about
Nothing, cabarets, top hats,
And that everyday gaiety we liked

Here comes my tender friend who lights you up
With slightly loaded dice, my sweet breaker of pots
Horatio, terror and glory of dives,
Dear speaker of swear words to fill a hundred volumes

Here comes among the mists of Elsinore
Something less pleasant, on my honor,
That Ophelia, the lovable child, marvels at

This is the spectre, the imperious spectre! His hand
Shows a purpose and his eye shines and his foot thunders
Alas! And there is no way to postpone it till the morrow!