What need you trust aside its grace
when love to you bids
Scowl not at it, least it your space
To reap yields of its seed

Pleasure heaven knows you are mistress
In a lone world of a young lover
But you would my distress
be. Thus from you i shall flee afar

Your posture that has my comfort imprisone
Shall enjoy the comfort of my contempt
And your hallowed field left unploughed by my reasoning
Its flavor shall by worms tempt.

I shall with you be calm and rough
In the absence of love.