Oh, this age! How tasteless and ill bred it is!
There is nothing more silly than a silly laugh.
I hate and I love. And if you ask me how, I do not know: I only feel it, and I am torn in two.
For the godly poet must be chaste himself, but there is no need for his verses to be so.
So a maiden, whilst she remains untouched, so long is she dear to her own; when she has lost her chaste flower with sullied body, she remains neither lovely to boys nor dear to girls.
Away with you, water, destruction of wine!