No, I do not cherish rebellious Delights,
delight the senses, folly, deliriously,
groaning, screaming young Bacchante,
When, viyas in my arms zmiey,
A gust of passionate caresses and kisses plague
She urges last moment sodragany!
ABOUT, how you dearer, smirennitsa my!
ABOUT, how happy I am painfully thee,
When, Slopes for many molenya,
You betrayed me tender without gusto,
Stыdlyvo-cold, my delight
hardly otvetstvuesh, not give ear to nothing
And to revive the then all Bole, Bole -
And finally you divide my flame of captivity!