You know my devotion to be mature
And I have been docile in tribulation,
But it becomes irksome to remain pure
When I am bared to such high degradation.
I lie all but conquered by melodies,
And yet I do cherish our enduring yoke.
Even Heaven listens not to my pleas
And I tremble with fright lest I should provoke
The wrath of that goddess who bids me bend,
Whose great beauty now fills me with dread!
Alas, my honour I must fiercely defend
For the marriage that lingers upon our bed.
Your slightest response will bring blesséd joy.
Until then, sweet love, patience I shall deploy.
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