Lovely Diodorus, who cast the flame of desire upon the maidens, is caught by the bright eyes of Timarion; he is wounded by Love's bitter-sweet shaft.
I see a new miracle — bright fire burned by fire!

One beauty is all I know, my keen eye sees Myiscus only; I am blind to all the rest.
He seems to me everything. Do the eyes see thus to flatter the heart?

Myiscus, whose eyes had stabbed me, me whose breast was never wounded by Desire, said:
" I have overcome this boaster and in disdain I tread underfoot the arrogance of this staff-bearing poet! "
But I sighed and answered: " What wonder? Love humbled even Zeus on Olympus! "

Diodorus is fortunate in his youth, Heraclitus in his eyes, Dion in his voice and Uliades in his beauty.
Do you, Philocles, touch the delicate flesh of the one, look upon the second, speak to the third and so on, that you may know I am not jealous.
But if you turn your eyes upon Myiscus, do not see how beautiful he is!

Clouded vision, light obscure,
Moody glory, living death,
Fortune that cannot endure,
Fickle weeping, joy a breath,
Bitter-sweet and sweet unsure,
Peace and anger, sudden crossed,
Such is love, its trappings sure
Decked with glory for its cost.

Eyes, betrayers of the soul, hunters of new loves, ever caught in the snares of Aphrodite, you seize another Love, as if sheep should seize a wolf or a crow a scorpion or ashes be put on a glowing fire!
Do what you will. But why pour out streaming tears when you return immediately to the same fetters?
You are burned in beauty; you are consumed from below; Love is the great chef of the soul!

O wine-drinkers, receive one who escaped the sea and pirates to perish on land!
Scarcely had I put foot on land from the ship when Love, the hunter, dragged me here by force, where I saw a young man walking. My feet carry me swiftly by themselves, against my will. I am drunk but my soul is filled with fire not wine.
Strangers, help a friend a little, help me, strangers, and for the sake of the Eros of hospitality, receive me as I perish, the suppliant of friendship!

Prima tibi periit soboles ( dilecta Maria,)
Elusitque uterum maesta Diana tuum .
Tunc Caelo, nunc & terris faecunda fuisti,
Quae potes & reges & peperisse deos.
Thy first birth Mary was unto a tombe,
And sad Lucina cheated thy blest wombe.
To heav'n thou then wert fruitfull, now to earth,
That canst give Saints as well as Kings a birth.

I fled from Love; he kindled a small torch (Phanion) from the ashes and found me where I lay hidden; he did not bend his bow but broke off a flake of fire with two nails of his fingers and hurled it at me.
The flames run all through me. O frail spark which has lighted so great a fire, Phanion, in my heart!

Already the soft dawn — and sleepless on the threshold Damis breathes out what little life is left him, for he looked at Heraclitus and under the rays of those eyes he was as wax upon hot charcoal.
Most unhappy Damis, rise up and I who have also a wound from Love will mingle my tears with yours.