Phœbo pulchrior, et sorore Phœbi:
At nunc lævior aëre, vel rotundo
Horti tubere, quod creavit unda,
Ridentes fugis et times puellas.
Ut mortem citius venire credas,
Scito jam capitis perisse partem.
A FREE TRANSLATION BY “PUNCH.”
Tomkins, you’re dish’d! thy light luxuriant hair,
Like “a distress,” hath left thy caput bare;
Thy temples mourn th’ umbrageous locks, and yield