In martial sports I had my cunning tried,
And yet to break more staves did me address:
While, with the people's shouts, I must confess,
Youth, luck, and praise, ev'n fill'd my veins with pride;
When Cupid having me his slave descried,
In Mars's livery, prancing in the press:
'What now, Sir Fool,' said he; I would no less.
'Look here, I say.' I look'd and Stella spied,
Who hard by made a window send forth light.
My heart then quak'd, then dazzled were mine eyes;
One hand forgot to rule, th'other to fight.
Nor trumpet's sound I heard, nor friendly cries;
My foe came on, and beat the air for me,
Till that her blush taught me my shame to see.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem