Under the rose will I tell you
The moon is our only home.
Look at the face shaded in pale,
Which no longer is as of tale.
In thus clime, there are many subtle;
Nothing glides, but changes without inkle.
Dry your sweat, O my best partner,
Since I mine, against back b\'dagger.
O gray stream which is called beauty
By mistake overwhelms steady
Previously, charming, your structure.