Though, in the triple throat of Cerberus
The grim, it lies ensconced in anguish sore;
Forth let it come to seek our world of light,
Then quick return unto thy realms of night.
Since come it must, let it instructed come,
Anent the issue of this bloody fray.
In no point let the wretched soul be dumb,
Nor aught conceal, but in the plainest way,
Without ambiguous phrase, rehearse the sum,
Lest doubt and dim confusion win the day.