Love, what are you waiting for?

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.