O Lydia, when you commend Telephus' rosy neck, and the waxen arms of
Telephus, alas! my inflamed liver swells with bile difficult to be
repressed. Then neither is my mind firm, nor does my color maintain a
certain situation: and the involuntary tears glide down my cheek,
proving with what lingering flames I am inwardly consumed. I am on fire,
whether quarrels rendered immoderate by wine have stained your fair
shoulders; or whether the youth, in his fury, has impressed with his
teeth a memorial on your lips. If you will give due attention to my
advice, never expect that he will be constant, who inhumanly wounds
those sweet kisses, which Venus has imbued with the fifth part of all
her nectar. O thrice and more than thrice happy those, whom an
indissoluble connection binds together; and whose love, undivided by
impious complainings, does not separate them sooner than the last day!
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