He is lovely, sweet and dear to me is the name of Myiscus; what reason have I for not loving him?
For he is beautiful, by Aphrodite, all beautiful; and if he is cruel — Love mingles bitter with the sweet.

Downward was the wheeling Bear
Driven by the Waggoner:
Men by powerful sleep opprest,
Gave their busie troubles rest:
Love, in this still depth of night,
Lately at my house did light:
Where perceiving all fast lockt,
At the door he boldly knockt:
Who'se that (said I) that does keep
Such a noise, and breaks my sleep?
Ope saith Love, for pity hear;
Tis a Childe, thou need'st not fear,
Wet and weary, from his way
Led by this dark night astray:
With compassion this I heard;
Light I struck; the door unbarr'd:

The die is cast; come then, I must go on. Take courage, what do you care when you are drunk? I will make merry. Make merry? Whither, O heart, are you turning? What reason is there in love? Act quickly. When does thought precede speech? Much labour of wisdom is a waste. This only I know that Love destroys even the will of Zeus.

The comfort of the customer, and Service are our aim;
We love to please the public (if it ain't a losing game);
For courtesy's our motto and politeness is our goal;
We want the public's confidence in the Store that Has a Soul.

Oh, honesty and chivalry express our sentiment —
Provided they will pay us never less than 12%.
We love to please the public, and there isn't any phrase
We won't assemble gladly if we're certain that it pays.

I have a child, a lovely one,
In beauty like the golden sun,
Or like sweet flowers of earliest bloom,
And Clais is her name, for whom
I Lydia's treasures, were they mine,
Would glad resign.

If the Desires love you, Philocles, and myrrh-breathing Persuasion and the lovely flower-gathering Graces, you will hold Diodorus in your arms, lovely Dorotheus shall sing before you, Callicrates shall sit at your knee, Dion shall warm your drinking-cup holding it carefully in his hand, Uliades shall remove its cover, Philo shall kiss you, Thero shall chatter to you and you shall touch the breast of Eudemos.
If the gods give you these joys, O fortunate one, you will add a spice to the Roman feast!

The leaves, my love, are gold and red,
As are your lovely eyes;
And the deep azure of your head
Is fairer than the skies.

Your lips are like the driven snow;
Your cheeks are like the sea.
But oh, my love, you cannot know
The way you look to me.

I must no longer now admire
The coldnesse which possest
Thy snowy Breast,
That can by other Flames be set on Fire;
Poor Love to harsh Disdain betray'd
Is by Ambition thus out-weigh'd.

Hadst thou but known the vast extent
Of Constant Faith, how farre
'Bove all that are
Born slaves to Wealth, or Honours vain ascent;
No richer Treasure couldst thou finde
Than hearts with mutual Chains combin'd.

But Love is too despis'd a name,
And must not hope to rise
Above these ties.

Unhappy lovers, drinkers of mingled wine, you who know the flame of love, I call upon you to pour on my heart cold water, water cooled with snow — I dared to look at Dionysius!
Fellow-slaves, put out the fire before it reaches my heart.

Be drunk, unhappy lover, and let Bromius, giver of forgetfulness, lull your burning love!
Be drunk, fill your cup with wine and drive hateful grief from your heart!