What manner of adversary art thou, Oh Cupid, mine newest enemy and cleaver of a heart now rent in two by love's dart unwanted? Fain wouldst I seek thy quiver spoilt and emptied of all implements of love's war, if but to liberate this shepherd boy from a wasting sickness wrought 'pon an unsuspecting and pure spirit. Content hath I been to drinketh in Nature's beauty and surfeit mine pining soul with Her sufficient bounties. She and she alone hath been, to present, sufficient food for all mine youthful cravings and whate'er further necessity wouldst, some elusive day, 'come enjoined upon this pitiable naif. Now, because of thee, despised one, mine once simple eye hath become darkened. The Serpent hath coiled 'round, he holdeth tight fast and letteth flow his venom slow and insuperable till mine full allegiance be guaranteed. That dear and innocent tender of the fold abideth no more. Thy darts, Cupid, art they claddeth in lead or gold?
O cunning and ruthless one, I hath become weary of a desire heretofore unknown. I am sickened at mine very center. Flesh and resolve once resistant to sin's temptation art now troubled by inconvenient stirrings. They rumbleth deep within a frame of roiling and burning blood that seeketh assuagement.
Come closer, dear Cupid. I speaketh only in jest as I truly do love thee. Before this febrile brow breaketh its hold, however, couldst I very well clippeth thy wings if 'pon thy cursed neck I shouldst fall. Love's sweet suffering hath rendered an innocent child mad and unaccountable for his present state of amorous intoxication.
I prithee, letteth the Immortals rendereth righteous judgment on mine behalf shouldst this madness leadeth to Cupid's demise by mine hand ...
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