To Chrysilla

Come, my Chrysilla, come
And make my arms your home.
Why, sweet, with downcast eyelids stand?
Why pluck your gown with trembling hand?
Love leaves no room for shame,
And if your lips refuse me ‘Yes,’
One gentle nod will still confess
The power of Venus' name.
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Author of original: 
Irenaeus Referendarius
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