Mutum percipio, fantis nihil audio vocem.
Venit ad hos sensus nidor testudinis acris,
Quæ semel agninâ coquitur cum carne labete,
Aere infra strato, et stratum cui desuper æs est.
I know the space of Sea, the number of the sand,
I hear the silent, mute I understand.
A tender Lamb joined with Tortoise flesh,
Thy Master King of Lydia now doth dress.
The scent thereof doth in my nostrils hover,
From brazen pot closed with brazen cover.