Away with you, water, destruction of wine!
I hate and love. You ask, perhaps, how can that be? I know not, but I feel the agony.
What a woman says to an eager lover, write it on running water, write it on air.
Oh, this age! How tasteless and ill bred it is!
For the godly poet must be chaste himself, but there is no need for his verses to be so.
To whom do I give my new elegant little book? Cui dono lepidum novum libellum?