O Stars, O Moon shining so beautifully to lovers, O Night and you, small pipe, companion of my feasts, shall I find her still awake in bed, complaining to the lamp? Or has she another beside her?
If so, I will hang upon her door these suppliant wreaths, watered with my tears and I will write on them: " To you, Aphrodite, Meleager, initiate in your mysteries, dedicates these spoils of his love. "

The golden Race of many languag'd men
The Gods first made, who heaven inhabit, when
The Sceptre Saturne swaid: like Gods they liu'd,
Secure in minde; nor sweat with toile, nor grieu'd.
Age was no cumber; armes like vigour keepe,
Feet equall speed: Death was as soft as sleepe.

I know it; nothing has escaped me.
Why swear by the gods? Nothing has escaped me, I tell you. Swear no more useless oaths — I know all.
This was the reason, traitress, why you had to sleep alone?
Did not that notorious Cleon. . . .? I ought to. . . . But why threaten? Out of my bed, at once, evil wretch!
Yet that is doing you a favour for I know you want to see him again. So stay here, a prisoner.

What wonder if Love, the plague of men, shoots fiery arrows and laughs shrilly with wayward eyes?
Does not his mother love Ares and is she not the wife of Hephaestus and therefore kin to fire and sword?
And does not Thalassa, the mother of his mother, roar savagely under the whip of the winds?
No one knows who his father is. Therefore Love has the fire of Hephaestus and delights in the waves' anger and in the blood-stained shafts of Ares.

Now by Aphrodite, I will burn all you have, Love, your arrows and your Scythian quiver; I will burn them!
Why do you laugh like a fool and grin with your wrinkledup nose and sneer? I think you will soon laugh with a wry face! I will cut off your wings, the guides of Desire, and I will bind your feet with a bronze chain.
Yet I shall win but a Cadmean victory if I keep you too near me, like a lynx in the goat-pastures. Go then, hard-to-conquer, bind on light sandals and fly away on new swift wings!

In health and ease am I;
Yet, as I senseless were, it nought contents me.
You sick in pain do lie;
And ah, your pain exceedingly torments me.
Whereof I can this only reason give,
That dead unto myself, in you I live.

Ye spotless Leaves! by all confest
Fair emblems of your Mistress' breast.
Thrice happy He of human race,
Whose Name in this fair Book has place!
O happier still, whoe'er thou art,
Whose Name's engraven on her Heart!

AQ- " ALEM (WHITE UNIVERSE)

And A q- " A lem they one of yonder maids call,
For her the moon of heaven acteth jackal.
Is't strange if through her loveliness she famed be?
A white Rose on the earth is yonder H u r i .
He who with that bright Moon as friend goes,
A universe enjoys more fair than earth shows.

The wine-cup is glad; it has touched (it says) the sweet-speaking mouth of Zenophile, the dear-to-love.
Fortunate cup! O that with her lips upon my lips Zenophile would drink my soul at a draught!

LA " LP-ARA (RUBY-CHIP)

La " l-p a ra as her name doth one of these own,
A girl whose heart is hard as is the flint-stone.
Her mouth in very truth's a ruby bright red,
Her teeth are pearls, so too the words by her said.
Strange were it, if my heart be by her love slaved?
For sooth her rubies bear the " coral-prayer " graved.