To lift you up through split air,

The high tracks of Hermes would not afford you shelter.

Amor stands upon you, Love drives upon lovers,

a heavy mass on free necks.

It is our eyes you flee, not the city,

You do nothing, you plot inane schemes against me,

Languidly you stretch out the snare

with which I am already familiar,

And yet again, and newly rumour strikes on my ears,

Rumours of you throughout the city,

and no good rumour among them.

“You should not believe hostile tongues,

“Beauty is slander’s cock-shy,

“All lovely women have known this,”

“Your glory is not outblotted by venom,”

“Phoebus our witness, your hands are unspotted,”

A foreign lover brought down Helen’s kingdom,

and she was led back, living, home;

The Cytharean brought low by Mars’ lechery

reigns in respectable heavens, ...

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