Sparrow, delight of my girl,
with whom she is accustomed to play,
whom she is accustomed to hold in the fold of her dress,
for whom, seeking rapaciously, she is accustomed to give her fingertip and to urge sharp bites,
when it is pleasing for me to make some loving joke for my shining desire,
and a solace of her sorrow,
I believe, so that her so heavy passion may grow quiet.
If only I were able to play with you yourself,
and to lift the doleful woes of your soul!

It is as pleasing to me as they say that the golden apple was to the swift girl,
which unbound her girdle, having been fastened for a long time.