Kirta

[D]eath, be broken; Sha'taqat,
prevail."—And so Sha'taqat departs;
into Kirta's house she goes.
Bkt she penetrates and enters,
Nṣrt she enters to its innermost recess.
Towns she flies over a hundred,
villages she flies over a multitude.
The invalid she⁠a . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ,
the suffering one upon his/her head,
and proceeds to wash him clean of sweat.
His desire for bread she opens,
his appetite for food.
Death, on the one hand, is broken; Sha'taqat,
on the other, has prevailed.—Then Kirta
the Noble commands, raising his voice
and calling: "Listen, O Lady
Hurraya. Prepare a lamb
that I may eat, a lamb that I may dine."
Lady Hurraya listens.
She prepares a lamb and he eats,
a lamb and he dines. Behold a day
and a second, Kirta returns to his former estate;
he sits upon the throne of kingship;
upon the dais, the seat of authority.
Yassib also sits in the palace,⁠b
and his inward parts instruct him:⁠c
"Go to your father, Yassib. Go
[to] your fa[ther] and speak, repeat
to Kir[ta the Noble]: Lis[ten]
and incline [(your) ear. For . . . . . . . . . ]
. . . . and . . . . . [ ]
You have let your hand fall into mischief.
You used to judge the cause of the widow,
to adjudicate the case of the wretched.
Since you have become a brother of the bed of sickness,
a companion of the bed of suffering,
descend from the kingship—I will be king;
in your authority I will sit."—
Yassib the Lad departs. Into his
father's presence he enters. He lifts up his voice
and cries: "Listen, please, O Kirta
the Noble! Listen, and incline (your) ear.
For . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
and . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . You have let your
hand fall into mischief. You used to judge the⁠d
cause of the widow, to adjudicate the⁠e
case of the wretched, to drive out
those who prey upon the poor, to feed⁠f
before you the orphan, behind
your back the widow. Since
you have become a brother of the bed of sickness, a companion
of the bed of suffering, descend from the kingship—
I will be king; in your authority I will
sit."—And [K]irta the Noble answers:
"May Horon break, O my son, may Horon break⁠g
your head, Athtart Name of Baal your
skull. May you fall into . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
(Colophon:) Written by Ilimilku; donated by