I figuratively crawl from a goat skin yurt
To allow the sun’s rays to bathe over my real (or unoccupied) hurt
And you, dear lady, with soul’s grace and alluring beauty so fair
To Venus and Apollon one may turn
And your regal bearing and quiet wisdom allude
Some fabulous powerful airs as to a lady judge!
Yet this is in no manner why my heart’s humours turn to sludge
No – this is the reason indifferent season when some turn their faces away
In the name of “good propriety”
You, for no apparent reason,
Shower great kindness on me.
