Literal Translation
Love is a credulous thing: suddenly having collapsed from agony, as it was told to me, she believed having been revived for a long time from her misery, own fate evil and complained about my faith, and having been provoked by an empty crime, what she feared is nothing, she feared a name without a body and she grieved unhappy as if about a real mistress. Often however she most miserably hesitates and hopes to be deceived and she denies faith to proof unless she could see herself, she is not about to condemn me of a failed message. The next day when Dawn’s light had expelled the night, I set out and I seek the woods and triumphant through the vegetation I say, “Dawn, come and heal our labor!” And suddenly among my words, I was seeming to have heard I don’t know what’s groans. “Come, dearest!” as I am saying the having fallen leaves make a rustling reply, and I thought it was a feral creature and swiftly sent my spear. It was Procris, holding a wound in the middle of her chest “Ah, me” she calls out! When having noted it was the voice of my wife, I ran hear first and frantic to the voice. I came upon her half alive, polluted with bloody clothing and (how miserable I am) I try to extract from the wound as a gift to me and I lifted her body, more dear than my weak arms, and divided her clothing and wrapped her bloody chest and attempted to stop the vulnerable gore and I plead that she not desert me, guilty of her dying. That women lacking strength and already dying forced herself to say a little here: Through the pact of our bed and through begging the gods I speak to the aboves and my own, through if any good I deserve from you and also through the remaining now, while I die, love the cause of death for me, do not allow Dawn to wed you in our chamber!” She said, and then at least I sensed the error to be the name and I told her. But what was helping to be told? She quivered, and small strength escaped with the blood, and while she is able to spectate anything and exhales in my unlucky mind in her mouth and to us; But he seemed by her better face fearless to die. This weeping hero was remembering by grieving, and her the son of Aeacus entered with two offsprings and new soldiers; whom Cephalus accepted with strong armor.
Idiomatic (Poetic) translation:
Love is a credulous thing: suddenly, having collapsed from agony, as it was told to me, when she had been rejuvenated from her misery for some time, she believed her own fate was unlucky and complained about my faith to her, and being provoked by an empty crime, she feared nothing, and she feared a name without a body and she griefed unhappily as if Aura was a real mistress. Often however she miserably hesitates and hopes to be deceived by her thoughts, and she denies it unless there is proof she could see herself, and she will not condemn me of a failed accusation. The next day when Dawn’s light had expelled the night, I set out and seek the woods and being triumphant through the vegetation I say, “Dawn, come and heal our suffering!” And suddenly among my words, I was seeming to have heard groans of something unknown. “Come, dearest!” I say as the fallen leaves make a rustling reply, and I thought it was a feral creature and swiftly threw my spear. But it was Procris who made the rustling, who was now holding a wound in the middle of her chest “Ah, me” she calls out! When I noted it was the voice of my wife, I ran hear first and frantic to the voice. I came upon her half alive, her clothing covered in blood and (how miserable I am) I try to extract the spear from the wound, as a gift to me, and I lifted her body, more dear than my weak arms, and ripped her clothing and wrapped her bloody chest and attempted to stop the exposed gore and I plead that she not leave me, guilty of her dying. That women lacking strength and already dying forced herself to say a little here: Through the pact of our bed and through begging the gods I speak to the aboves and my own husband, through if any good I deserve from you and also through the remaining now, while I die, love the cause of death for me, do not allow Dawn to wed you in our chamber!” She said, and then at least I sensed the error to be the name and I told her. But what was helping to be told? She quivered, and small strength escaped with her blood, and while she is able to spectate anything and her mouth exhales in my unlucky mind and among us; But he seemed by her better face fearless of death. This weeping hero was remembering by his grieving, and her the son of Aeacus entered with two offsprings whom were new soldiers; whom Cephalus accepted with strong arms.
Idiomatic (Poetic) translation:
Love is a credulous thing: suddenly, having collapsed from agony, as it was told to me, when she had been rejuvenated from her misery for some time, she believed her own fate was unlucky and complained about my faith to her, and being provoked by an empty crime, she feared nothing, and she feared a name without a body and she griefed unhappily as if Aura was a real mistress. Often however she miserably hesitates and hopes to be deceived by her thoughts, and she denies it unless there is proof she could see herself, and she will not condemn me of a failed accusation. The next day when Dawn’s light had expelled the night, I set out and seek the woods and being triumphant through the vegetation I say, “Dawn, come and heal our suffering!” And suddenly among my words, I was seeming to have heard groans of something unknown. “Come, dearest!” I say as the fallen leaves make a rustling reply, and I thought it was a feral creature and swiftly threw my spear. But it was Procris who made the rustling, who was now holding a wound in the middle of her chest “Ah, me” she calls out! When I noted it was the voice of my wife, I ran hear first and frantic to the voice. I came upon her half alive, her clothing covered in blood and (how miserable I am) I try to extract the spear from the wound, as a gift to me, and I lifted her body, more dear than my weak arms, and ripped her clothing and wrapped her bloody chest and attempted to stop the exposed gore and I plead that she not leave me, guilty of her dying. That women lacking strength and already dying forced herself to say a little here: Through the pact of our bed and through begging the gods I speak to the aboves and my own husband, through if any good I deserve from you and also through the remaining now, while I die, love the cause of death for me, do not allow Dawn to wed you in our chamber!” She said, and then at least I sensed the error to be the name and I told her. But what was helping to be told? She quivered, and small strength escaped with her blood, and while she is able to spectate anything and her mouth exhales in my unlucky mind and among us; But he seemed by her better face fearless of death. This weeping hero was remembering by his grieving, and her the son of Aeacus entered with two offsprings whom were new soldiers; whom Cephalus accepted with strong arms.