Estne tibi, Cerinthe, tuae pia cura puellae,
quod mea nunc uexat corpora fessa calor?
A ego non aliter tristes euincere morbos
optarim, quam te si quoque uelle putem.
At mihi quid prosit morbos euincere, si tu 5
nostra potes lento pectore ferre mala?
Is there to you, Cerinthus, pious care for you girl,
because now a fever vexes my feeble flesh?
But I would not wish otherwise to overcome the sad illnesses
than if I thought you might wish it as well.
But for me what does it profit to overcome the illnesses, if you
are able to bear my ills with an unfeeling heart?
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