Lūgēte, ō Venerēs Cupīdinēsque,
et quantum est hominum venustiōrum:
passer mortuus est meae puellae,
passer, dēliciae meae puellae,
quem plūs illa oculīs suīs amābat.
nam mellītus erat suamque nōrat
ipsam tam bene quam puella matrem,
nec sēsē ā gremiō illius movēbat,
sed circumsiliens modo hūc modo illūc
ad sōlam dominam usque pīpiābat.
quī nunc it per iter tenebricōsum
illūc, unde negant redīre quemquam.
at vōbīs male sit, malae tenebrae
Orcī, quae omnia bella dēvorātis:
tam bellum mihi passerem abstulistis.
o factum male! o miselle passer!
tuā nunc operā meae puellae
flendō turgidulī rubent ocellī.
Mourn, O Venuses and Cupids, and all those humans who are more sophisticated! The sparrow of my mistress is dead, the sparrow, the delight of my mistress, which she loved more than her own eyes, For he was honey-sweet and knew his mistress as well as a girl knows her mother, and he never moved from her lap, but hopping about now hither now thither he was always chirping to his mistress alone. Now he is going along the shadowy path to that place from which they say that no one returns. Damn you, you evil shades of Orcus, who devour all pretty things: you have taken such a pretty sparrow away from me. O what an evil deed! O poor wee sparrow! Because of you my mistress’ eyes are swollen and red from weeping.
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