What women say to lovers, you'll agree, One writes on running water or on air.

Better a sparrow, living or dead, than no birdsong at all.

I hate and I love, and who can tell me why?

I write of youth, of love, and have access by these to sing of cleanly wantonness.

But you shall not escape my iambics.

My mind's sunk so low, Claudia, because of you, wrecked itself on your account so bad already, that I couldn't like you if you were the best of women, -or stop loving you, no matter what you do.

To whom do I give my new elegant little book? Cui dono lepidum novum libellum?