May next day give (for who can tell?)
A comb from which the honey flows.
But come, come, what need we say more?
Open the door, boy, open the door,
For Plutus has heard our prayers.
And see, through the porch, a damsel, as sweet
As the winds that play round the flowery feet
Of Ida, comes the crow to meet,
And a basket of figs she bears.
Oh, may this maiden happy be,