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.