الْمَقَامَةُ الْقطيعية

He raised his nose arrogantly.

Ó gbé imu rẹ̀ sókè pẹ̀lú ìgbéraga.

And distanced himself proudly.

Ati ó yà ara rẹ̀ kúrò pẹ̀lú ìgbéraga.

And he recited: Old age has forbidden me from my joys.

Ati ó kọrin pé: Ìgbà àgbà ti fòfin de mi kúrò nínú ayọ̀ mi.

So how can I combine rest and wine?

Nítorí náà, báwo ni mo ṣe lè kopọ̀, ìsinmi àti wáìnì?

And is it permissible for me to drink in the morning.

Ati ṣe ó bófin mu fún mi láti mu ní òwúrọ̀.

From an aged wine when the gray of my head has illuminated my morning.

Láti inú wáìnì tó ti gbó nígbà tí irun funfun mi ti tan ìmọ́lẹ̀ sí òwúrọ̀ mi.

I swore that wine would not mix with me.

Mo búra pé wáìnì kì yóò darapọ̀ mọ́ mi.

As long as my soul clings to my body and my words to my clarity.

Títí tí ẹ̀mí mi yóò fi di ara mi mú, tí ọ̀rọ̀ mi yóò sì tẹ̀lé ìṣàlàyé mi.

Nor will I be adorned with cups of wine, nor will I play my arrows among the cups.

Bẹẹni ọwọ́ mi kì yóò kẹ̀ṣọ pẹ̀lú àgọ́ wáìnì, èmi kì yóò sì ṣeré àwọn ọ̀fà mi láàrín àwọn àgọ́.

Nor will I turn my concern to pure, sparkling wine.

Ati èmi kì yóò yí ìfẹ́ mi padà sí wáìnì tó mọ́, tó ń tan ìmọ́lẹ̀.