Have link'd that amourous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh: As thou from year to year hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why:
Whether the Muse, or Love, call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I.
Lug Hares mulla tibi Warwici villa, tenebris, Ante tuas Cunas, obsita Prima fuit. Arma, Viras, Veneres, Patriam modulamine dixti; Jo Patrice resonant Arma, Viri, Veneres.