LUCRETIA was wearing a light robe which clung to her body without a wrinkle, concealing neither her breasts nor her hips, and displayed her limbs exactly as they were. Her throat was snowy white, her eyes shone with the radiance of the sun; her glance was happy, her face animated, and her cheeks like lilies mixed with crimson roses. Laughter that was sweet and modest filled her mouth. She was deep-bosomed, and her breasts swelled out on either side like two pomegranates, so that one longed to touch them.

Euryalus could contain himself no longer, but forgot his fear and cast aside all modesty. Coming close to her, he said: ‘At last let us enjoy our love,’ and he matched his actions to his words. But she resisted and pleaded her honour and her reputation, saying their love demanded no more than words and kisses.

At this, Euryalus smiled, 'Is it known that I have come here, or is it not? If it is, there is no one will not suspect the worst, and it is stupid to lose one’s reputation for nothing. If indeed no one knows, then no one will know this either. This is the pledge of love, and I’ll die sooner than go without it.’

‘Oh, but it’s wrong,’ cried she, and he replied:

‘It is wrong not to use the good things we have got, and shall I let slip the opportunity accorded me, that I have sought so long, desired so ardently?’

He seized her dress, and while she resisted with no desire to win, he easily got the better of her.

Nor did their love bring satiety, as when Tamar gave herself to Amon, but roused in them a greater thirst for more. Yet they remembered their peril and, after they had eaten and drunk a little, Euryalus departed, much against Lucretia’s will. And no one suspected anything, for they thought he was one of the day-labourers.