Quantos oj’andan eno mar aqui
cuidan que coita no mundo non á
se non do mar, nen an outro mal ja;
mais d’outra guisa contece oge a mi:
       coita d’amor me faz escaecer
       a mui gran coita do mar, e teer

Pola mayor coita de quantas son,
coita d’amor, a que’-na Deus quer dar.
E é gran coita de mort’ a do mar,
mais non é tal; e por esta razon
       coita d’amor me faz escaecer
       a mui gran coita do mar, e teer

Pola mayor coita, per bõa fé,
de quantas foron, nen son, nen seran.
E estes outros que amor non an,
dizen que non; mais eu direi qual é:
       coita d’amor me faz escaecer
       a mui gran coita do mar, e teer

Por mayor coita a que faz perder
coita do mar, que faz muitos morrer!

Those who spend their lives at sea
think there is no pain in the world
as great as their pain, and no fate worse
than a seaman’s fate, but consider me:
    the pain of love made me forget
    the pain of sea, so cruel and yet

As nothing next to that greatest pain,
the pain of love that God ordains.
The pain of sea is a pain unto death,
but I discovered it can’t compare
    to the pain of love, which made me forget
    my seaman’s pain, terrible and yet

As nothing next to the greatest of all
the pains that are, were or will come.
Those who have never been in love
can’t know the pain I feel, because
    the pain of love makes one forget
    all other pains, cruel and yet

As nothing next to the pain that exceeds
even the deathly pain of sea.