Translated by Milton
Quis multa gracilis, &c.
What slender youth, bedew’d with liquid odours,
Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave?
Pyrrha, for whom bind’st thou
In wreaths thy golden hair,
Plain in thy neatness? O how oft shall he
On faith and changed Gods complain, and seas
Rough with black winds, and storms
Unwonted, shall admire.