I do not believe in the lily's chastity,
That gay fellow the butterfly will play
Wanton with her; he kisses her, and
Finally flutters with her innocence away.

Of the violet's humility,
I do not have much of an opinion;
The little flower attracts with her scent,
While secretly thriving for renown.

I also doubt whether the nightingale
Feels what she is singing about;
She exaggerates, sobs and trills,
Purely out of routine, I have no doubt.

Truth is vanishing from the world,
And there is no loyalty any more.
Dogs still wag their tail and stink,
But are not loyal, like before.