lugete o veneres cupidinesque,
et quantum est hominum uenustiorum:
passer mortuus est meae puellae,
passer, deliciae meae puellae,
quem plus illa oculis suis amabat.
nam mellitus erat suamque norat
ipsam tam bene quam puella matrem,
nec sese a gremio illius mouebat,
sed circumsiliens modo huc modo illuc
ad solam dominam usque pipiabat.
qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum
illuc, unde negant redire quemquam.
at uobis male sit, malae tenebrae
orci, quae omnia bella deuoratis:
tam bellum mihi passerem abstulistis
o factum male! o miselle passer!
tua nunc opera meae puellae
flendo turgiduli rubent ocelli.

mourn, o venuses and cupids
and all you men of finer feeling!
the sparrow of my girl is dead
the sparrow, darling of my girl,
whom she loved more than her eyes;
for it was honey-sweet and knew its mistress
as well as a girl knows her mother,
and it would not move from that woman's lap
but hopping around, now this way and now that,
it would chirp constantly to the mistress alone.
now it goes alone a shady journey
the journey to that place from which they say nobody returns.
but as for you, curses be upon you, evil shades
of orcus, who eat up all pretty things.
so pretty is the sparrow you have stolen from me.
evil doing, as, o poor little sparrow,
it's your doing that my girl's
little eyes are swollen and red with weeping.