Cerinthus, are you able to render
loving care to your girl,
now that the ague racks my weary limbs?
Ah! I would sooner succumb
to these bouts of illness, unless I knew
you wished my return to health.
What would be the point of my recovery,
if it were to leave your heart unmoved?
Estne tibi, Cerinthe, tuae pia cura puellae,
quod mea nunc vexat corpora fesse calor?
A! ego non aliter tristes evincere morbos
optarim, quam te si quoque velle putem.
At mihi quid prosit morbos evincere, si tu
nostra potes lento pectore ferre mala?
(freely translated from the Latin)