1. They find fault with her in my eyes, yet no fault in her is there,
Save that within her eyes some slowness may appear,

2. Yet if in her eyes some fault there be, then she is one
With languid neck and gently twisting hair,

3. Ripe fruits that, as she walks, spill blood that trickles there,
Or that, when kissed, she feigns a modest blush and air,

4. With soft speech that is free of foolish babble and flair.