I will stand against Zeus himself if he wishes to take you as his cup-bearer, Myiscus.
Again and again he says to me: " What do you fear? I will not torment you with rivals. I have learned to pity desire. "
This he says, but if a fly comes near I am in terror lest it should be Zeus the deceiver!

Swift sea-faring ships which sail through the Hellespont, receiving the fair north wind in your sails, if on the shores of island Cos you see by chance Phanion looking over the blue sea, say to him, beautiful ships, that my love bids me come to him not by sea but on foot.
If you say this, may it bring you luck and Zeus shall breathe a following wind into your sails.

I am caught too, I who laughed so often at the revels of young men wild with love.
Winged Eros makes me stand before your gates, Myiscus, with the inscription: " Spoils from Sophrosyne! "

Eros, pity my entreating Muse and lull my sleepless yearning for Heliodorus. Now by your bow! your bow which does not harm others, but scatters winged arrows against me — if you kill me I will have these words written on my tomb:
" Friend, see the blood-guiltiness of Eros! "

The foeman glories in my shield;
I left it in the battle-field;
I threw it down beside the wood,
Unscathed by scars, unstained by blood;
And let him glory, since from death
Escaped, I keep my forfeit breath.
I soon may find, at little cost,
As good a shield as that I've lost.

O locust, beguiler of my desires, giver of sleep, Muse of the corn-lands with shrill-sounding wings, nature's mimic of the lyre, sing for me some well-loved song, O locust, beating your strident wings with your legs, to deliver me from the pains of sleepless thought, O locust, singer of the music which soothes love!
In the morning I will give you a fresh leek and drops of dew which you shall drink from my lips.

Clearista loosed her maiden knot, wedding no mortal but Hades.
For at night the flutes were shrill at the bride's gate and the doors of the bridal chamber clashed; at dawn they cried out in lamentation and Hymen changed from silence to a mournful wail.
The same torches which lighted the bride-room showed the way underground to the dead girl.

Ever the echo of Love sounds in my ears; in silence my eye sheds a tear to Desire; neither night nor day assuages me. Already through love-spells an impress is marked on my heart.
O winged Loves, do you know so well how to fly to me and yet not how to fly away?

O hair of Timo, O sandal of Heliodora, O myrrh-breathing mouth of Demarion, O voluptuous laugh of ox-eyed Anticleia, O new-flowered coronals of Dorothea!
Your quiver, Love, conceals no more winged shafts — all your arrows are in me!

Immortall BEN is dead; and as that ball
On Ida toss'd, so is his Crowne by all
The Infantry of wit. Vaine Priests! That chaire
Is only fit for his true Sonne and Heire.
Reach here the Lawrell: Randolph , 'tis thy praise;
Thy naked Scull shall well become the Bayes.
See, Daphne courts thy Ghost: and spite of fate,
Thy Poims shall be Poet Laureat .