If it is true, Chloris, that you love me,
(But I do hear that you love me well),
I don't believe that even kings themselves
Ever had a happiness equal to mine.

How unwelcome Death would be,
[Even] if it replaced my fortune  
With the bliss of heaven!

[For] everything they say about ambrosia
Fails utterly to spark my imagination,
[Especially] if I had to give up the charms of your gaze.