Mischievous child, put down your bow. That is gear for a man, not the chubby darling of love. I use the same weapon to wound my enemies, slay Python and hunt wild beasts. Content yourself with your torch to inflame hearts, leave the bow to your betters!
Your bow may conquer all but cannot protect you from my own. Every heart is my potential target and you are now in my sights. To my bow, two arrows are set. The golden shaft is sunk into your bragging heart, while the leaden arrow flies into yonder passing nymph’s. Whose bow is the better now?
Stay sweet nymph, do not flee from me as if I was a foe. I pursue you out of love, but stay my heart. Do not be so distressed! Do not run through the briars or over such rough ground. Do not harm yourself but stay, let me heal you! No rough forester or unkept shepherd am I. Oh gentle beauty, it is I the lord of Delphi, son of Zeus. My songs will sooth and charm you if you but stay a moment.
Help me Father River or Mother Earth! Help me divinities of land and sky! I falter and stumble while my heart still races. Save me from the clutches of my pursuer. Change me to something, anything that is not this female form for which he longs!
My love, why for the leaves in your hair, bark over your skin? Rooted in place, no dancing to my songs? It is between your legs I wish to be not your roots. Alas, my bride you will now never be yet I must have you close. Always you will be my tree, sweet laurel. My head, my quiver, my hall you shall wreathe ever more.
Who is the child and who is the man? Who sobs over a plant and who rides the breeze? Ever shall you fail at love, songster, until you leave aside your pride and apologize to this chubby child of love.