You are eight, and I seventeen beater.
And I think once eight years;
they passed. - In the fate of his dull,
God knows how, I have now become a poet.
It does not have to return to, what happened,
I'm old, a stranger to me a lie:
So believe me - we are saved by faith alone.
Listen: Amur, how are you, good;
Cupid child, Cupid looks like you -
At my age you'll Venus.
But if I am alive,
Zeus the supreme goodness,
And just as eloquent -
I will write you, Baroness,
In Latin madrigal taste,
Wonderful, completely without art -
Not many true praise,
But a lot of true feelings.
I tell: “We like your eyes,
n Baroness! for balls,
When we are looking at you,
Take a look at me at least once
As a reward, the old madrigals
Well when Cupid and Hymen
In my pretty Mary
Congratulate a young lady -
L succeed me at the old age of the day,
You devote epithalamium?
