XCIX

While you were playing, honeyed Juventius, I stole

A little kiss from you, sweeter than sweet ambrosia.

But I suffered for what I took. For over an hour,

I remember, I was nailed to the top of the cross

While I justified myself before you, but even then I could not

Dampen your anger in the slightest with my tears.

For as soon as the deed was done, you drenched your lips with drop

Upon drop of water and wiped it away with your soft fingers

Lest anything contracted from my lips should remain,

As though it were the filthy saliva of an infected whore.

Worse, for all my misery you put me in the hands

Of Cruel Love who tortures me perpetually in every way,

So that sweet little kiss has transformed in my eyes from

Ambrosia to something more woeful than woeful hellebore.

Since you proffer this as a punishment for wretched love,

Never again from this day forward shall I steal kisses.