The bees must do without their favourite food;
So when my passion cools, and dies my love,
You should submit to this my changéd mood.”
A man sings to a woman:
“Up every rocky cliff some path exists,
If one can find a guide to show the way;
So to your heart some avenue must lead,
Teach me, forthwith, that path of love, I pray.”
The woman replies:
“Were I inclined to grant this fruit[1] to you,