Jacek Kaczmarski - Ambasadorowie

Still, the globe underarm- with such a world map
Capable of strategies, plans and dreams.
Still, the insignia of power, sable robe
Thick, braided hair and hands gesture without a tremble.
Still, the clock in the reach of hand- still early
Movement of the clock's hands doesn't take away self-confidence
Sight- mirror of soul- sees everything even in the sleep
To which the peace brings the Cipher and the Letter.

They did so much as for their young age
Vax of history surrenders to their infallible traces-
It's Georges de Selve- a promising diplomate
And Jean de Dinteville- a french ambasseur.

Discreet paegantry- is only the echo of dignity
Turkish carpet, italian lute- sign of sophistication
In silent mouth taste of absolute victory
In attitudes- greatness - achived already in life.
Heavy curtain supports the both with what it hides.
They look ahead boldly, certain of their arguments,
After all, diplomacy rules everything that moves today,
And they- the bloom of the sixteenth-century diplomacy!

They don't know what is pain, plague or cold
The world will always make amends to the great ones' caprices!
It's Georges de Selve- a promising diplomate
And Jean de Dinteville- a french ambasseur.

But in the tuned lute the string breaks
And the sheet edges turn yellow in the open book of knowledge...
The hand errs after the crucifix unwittingly
The clock's hand turns faster and faster!
A terrific shape appears infront of them in mid-step
And destroys the peace- Is the artist fooling around?
No, this is not a joke! You need to look at this shape askance!
To clearly see, that this is a death's skull

They were- and they are not- oh, what a big loss!
What were their names? Who is aware of it today?
Oh! Georges de Selve! A promising diplomate
Oh! Jean de Dinteville- a french ambasseur.