The winter is cold, Mnasidika. All is cold outside our bed. Rise, then, come with me, for I have lit a great fire with dead twigs and with split branches.

We will warm ourselves kneeling, all naked, our hair hanging upon our backs, and we will drink milk together from the same cup, and we will eat cakes with honey.

How gay and noisy is the flame! Art thou not too near? Thy skin becomes red. Let me kiss it wherever the fire has made it burning.

In the midst of the firebrands I will heat the iron and will dress thine hair here. With the charred splinters I will write thy name upon the wall.