Oh, yes! You’ll give me all, when soon salt even you’ll deny.

Oh, I could pour my soul into you for your dear delight!

Forgive, O Artemis, forgive your faithless acolyte.

Venus shall have an ox; a calf for Cupid I will burn.

A virgin came I hither, but a woman shall return.

The nurse, the mother, of my babes, now never more a maid.

So with young limbs entwined in love all joyously they played,

Soft-murmuring each to each; then from their secret couch they leap:

She, when she had arisen, went away to feed her sheep;

Shame was in her eyes, but her heart beat high above: