And if to me the ill-fated piper yield,
As sure I trust this well-contested field,
High in the sacred dome his pipes I’ll raise,
The trophy of my fame in after days;
That all may know as they the pipes survey
The fiddler’s deed and this the signal day.
But if the Fates, his wishes to fulfil,
Shall give the triumph to his happier skill,
My fiddle his, to him be praises paid,
And join with those the long-contested maid.’