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Link to an image of this page  Link to an image of this page  [F8r p95]

Amor dubius.

Doubtful love.

Woman in robes with branch in one hand and heart in the other hand. Cupid holding up a bow, the arrows from which are lodged in a cloud.
[Click on image to enlarge]

Amor venustis imminet,
Venustiores separat,
Secutus haud semper capit.
Ciens cietur mutuò,
Moratur & spe subdola.
Amaror hoc suavior,
Et nullus est amarior.
Habens habetur lubricus,
Quantum addit aufert flammulae,
Cor alterat saepe & die.
Ut follis est in flamine,
Link to an image of this page  Link to an image of this page  [F8v p96]Non dat priùs, ni acceperit.
Mora est amor solubilis,
In spe timorem copulans,
In gaudio fallacibus
Ludens, inanes ebrians,
Plenos levi vacuans modo,
Vigens calore frigidus,
Praeter nihil dans spem & metum.
Nudum cave puellulum,
Nam vulnerat saevissmè [=saevissimè] ,
Sed curat haud tutissimè.
Mellitus & subblandulus
Subegit omnes caelites.
I, pòst tribuas cupidini
Incertior certissima
Dolore qui torquet gravi,
Gravem tamen nec senseris:
Virtutis ast amor sibi
Constat, nec aufert praemia.
Ornans suos laboribus,
Memoriam nec immemor
Fraudans, beatis aggregat.
Sollicitet hic nos posteà,
Sequamur, & sequentibus
Annis secuturum decus.

Love threatens the delightful, and divides those more so; a man who follows almost never captures. Arousing we are aroused, and delayed by sly hope. There is no sweeter bitterness, nor sweetness bitterer. It holds us, slippery, and is held, and as much spark as it gives, it takes away; it changes the heart day by day. Like a leaf in the wind, it does not give before it receives. Love is soluble delay; it couples fear with hope, fools fools with joy, inebriates the harebrained, easily empties those who are full, and freezing, burns with heat. It gives hope and fear and nothing else. Beware of the naked boy, for he wounds fearfully, but does not nurse you properly. Love, honey-sweet and cunningly seductive, conquers all the heavenly band. Go, and once you, uncertain, have paid your debt of certainty to the desire that tortures you with grievous pain, you still will not notice that love is a burden to you; but the love of Virtue for itself stands firm, and brings no prizes. Honouring its own with labours, and deceiving not memory with forgetfulness, it follows the happy. Let this disturb us in the future; let us follow it, and the glory that will follow in years to come.

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