With rivers, winds, when I command, obey,
And at my feet, their fans contracted lay,
Tygers and dragons too, my will obey,
But these are small, when of my magick verse,
Descending Cynthia does the power confess.
When my commands, make trembling Phoebus reign,
His fiery steeds, their journey back again.
Such power have charms, by whose prevailing aid
The fury of the raging bulls was laid.
The Heaven-born Circe, with her magic song,