The Mirror

	I did not think (boldly oppressive evil)

	that my face was not handsome and good,

	until I openly examined

4	the mirror; what a bad one!

	Then at last the mirror said

	that I am not fair of face.

	The skin is yellowing for the one like Luned,

8	it's [a] big [thing] that she does not trust me.

	The cheek is glass after the groaning,

	and [there's] a yellow weal from one end to the other.

	One could almost make a razor

12	from the long nose; this is wretched.

	Is it not terrible that the merry eyes

	are blind auger holes?

	And the mane of curly, unruly hair

16	falls from its roots by the handful.

	Great on me is the misfortune of wickedness:

	on my word, it is either

	that I am a freckled, swarthy quiver,

20	([of] a bad nature) or that the mirror is no good.

	If the blame (I know the nature of long passion)

	is mine, may I die!

	If the blame belonged to the mirror of a speckled appearance,

24	what a life!

	A round blue moon, a dire circle,

	full of magic, the appearance of a lodestone,

	of a weak colour, an enchanting gem,

28	magicians made it.

	A dream of the speediest nature,

	a cold betrayer and a brother to ice,

	the most false, truly the most ugly lad,

32	may the crooked-lipped, very cruel mirror be in flames!

	No-one has made me wrinkle-faced

	(if it is right to believe the mirror there)

	except the girl from Gwynedd;

36	it is [well] known there how to mar a face.