Was his Talthibius, ordained to send
To her whose beauty makes stiff Atlas bow.
The monk embraced the office, and did swear,
By all our scarlet oaths, faith, truth, and care.
Albino now to every Santo prays,
And for success his hands with zeal does rear,
Courting his lady in some Irish lays,
1520And robbed his finger of its golden sphere.
En-nealed I live in hope, and sure grief's waves,
If anchorless, had been t'is wishes graves.