Love, what are you waiting for? Love, what are you doing? Come on! why don't you take your arrows now at last? Love, revenge! Love, hit with your darts that haughty heart that disdains your kingdom.
O pomp, o glory, o proud booty, what a noble victory if Love hurts her; Love, dare! Love, hurt her! Love, and hear what praises you will receive.
Mighty Love, gentle Love, people will say "eventually she did burn with the fire of love, that cruel woman who, eager for moans and tears, scorns her lovers."
That arrogant heart now is languishing and sighing, that sharp face now moves to pity. Those cruel eyes, turned to two rivers, do now pour out tears of love.
If she once cruel and wicked denied mercy now, humble and pious, she asks for it. O fire, o arrow, noble, immmortal, what will escape you if you set on fire the ice?
From the high heaven, Jupiter throws thunderbolts, Apollo, the bowman of Delos, rains darts, but let the golden arrow be adorned with laurel, for it exceeds any other in power.