Did I not cry to you my soul: " By Aphrodite, unhappy lover, you will be caught, flying too often to the snare! " Did I not warn you? The snare holds you. Why struggle vainly in the toils? Love himself binds your wings and kindles a fire and scatters myrrh on your breathless body, and gives hot tears for you to drink in your thirst.
O heavily-burdened soul, now you burn in fire and now, gathering breath, you revive. Why weep? When you flew to Love's relentless breast, were you ignorant he would feed on you? Did you not know it? Know now the price of over-delicate food, as you endure fire and cold snow. You chose them yourself; bear your burden. You suffer rightly, after what you have done, consumed in burning honey!