Grieve not too much, my Albius, since Glycera is no longer
As worthy of your constant love and amatory sighs
As in the yesterdays, and since a taller man and younger,
Who once embraced her slender waist, seems fairer in her eyes.

Lycoris of the little brow loves Cyrus unrequited;
While he in turn will madly burn for rustic Pholoë—
Yet shall Apulian wolves with docile she-goats be united
Ere he persuade this wilful maid to smile and turn his way.

Such is the will of Her who rules the destinies of lovers;
For Cupid's courts hold cruel sports when wanton Venus reigns.
And underneath her brazen yoke one oftentimes discovers
Young couples who, ill-suited to each other, curse their chains.

Thus once the little Myrtale, a slave-born girl and lowly,
As wild and free as is the sea beneath Calabrian skies,
So captured me with pleasing ways I swore to love her solely—
When from the glade a worthier maid looked on with longing eyes.