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 way with
these selfe louing lads,
whom Cupids arrowe neuer glads:
Away poore soules that sigh &
weepe
in loue of them that lie & sleepe,
For Cupid
is a medooe god,
&
forceth none to kiss the rod.
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 üüd unustagem
sellid, endaarmastust kes täis,
Kes Cupido noolest eal ei roomu tundvat
näi,
Nüüd jätkem vaesed hinged,
kes ohkavad ja kaeb'vad,
Armastuses tardunus, mis nagu nende
vaevad.
Sest Cupido on aasa
jumal,
Ei suudlema ta risti
sunni, ole tark vai rumal.
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2
 od Cupids shaft
like destinie,
Doth either good or ill decree:
Desert is borne out of his bow,
Reward upon his feet doth go,
What
fooles are they that haue not knowne
That loue
likes no lawes but his owne?
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 upido nool
kui saatus eluteel,
Ta head kas toob voi haiget sulle
teeb,
Nii palka oma vibus peidab,
Et tasu saaks, kes end ta jälgedesse
heidab.
Kes küll need tobud on,
et veel ei taipa:
Siin reegel ainus on, kus
armastus vaid aitab.
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3
 y song they be of
Cynthias praise,
I weare her ring on holidaies,
On euery tree I write her name,
And euery day I read the same.
Where
honor Cupids riual is,
There
miracles are seene of his:
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 u laul see
ülistagu Cynthiat,
Ta sormust kannan siis, kui pühad
on.
Ja puudele ma koikjal kirjutan ta
nime,
Ning iga päev ma kordan, mis seal
kirjas on.
Cupido konkurent kus au,
kui ülistate teda,
Ei imed tulemata
jää, Cupido toestab seda.
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4
 f Cinthia craue her
ring of me,
I blot her name out of the tree,
If doubt do darken things held deere,
Then well fare nothing once a yeere:
For
many run, but one must win,
Fooles only
hedge the Cuckoo in.
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 ui Cynthia
mult oma sormuse ka votab,
Siis pühkima ta nime igalt puult ma
tottan.
Kui kahtled, kas voiks heita varju
sellele, mis kallis,
ord aastas ette tuleb päev, mis
hallimast on hallim.
Nii paljud jooks'vad,
üks vaid v6itma peab,
On rumal toesti see, kes
käole pesa seab.
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5
 he worth that
worthinesse should moue
Is loue,which is the bowe of loue,
And loue as well the foster can,
As can the mighty Noble-man:
Sweet
Saint, tis true you worthie be,
Yet without
loue nought worth to me.
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 ee
väärtus, mida väartuslikkus
liigutama peab,
On armastus, mis armastuse nooli seah,
Ning arm see sama hästi vankrit
veab,
Kui oid, mis härrasmehel varuks
peas:
Oo, armas pühak,
kiidetud sa ole,
Kuid mitte siis, kui
armastust su's pole.
John Dowland,
1597
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