Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then a thousand more.
To whom do I give my new elegant little book? Cui dono lepidum novum libellum?
For the godly poet must be chaste himself, but there is no need for his verses to be so.
What women say to lovers, you'll agree, One writes on running water or on air.
Ah, what is more blessed than to put cares away, when the mind lays by its burden, and tired with labor of far travel we have come to our own home and rest on the couch we longed for? This it is which alone is worth all these toils.
I hate and love. You ask, perhaps, how can that be? I know not, but I feel the agony.