Epithalamion protreptikon

The pristine seat of the Nobles; this you cultivate yourself
More lavishly: you allow this to be painted with wonderful art:
Forms breathe in images on the walls:
The spectator feeds his eyes on these.
As the ape might excel in taste: the spider in touch:
The lynx in sight: the wall has everything worthy of marvel.
And many things besides, which I fly past with swift pen:
You build up every side with great expenses:
And not badly: for it is fitting for those pregnant with coins, not lacking bronze,
To build huge hearths:
And to give cultivated palaces to the famous fatherland: yet it is not
Fitting to be unmindful of the poor crowd.
Whose memory you are accustomed to keep, most wealthy Felix:
Pious fame has long since sung this to me.
Sometimes you resonate a very lovable song on the lyre:
And the blown flute pours out sweet modes.
As Orpheus moved the Dryads: as Arion moved Nereus:
Each learned to play on the sweet-sounding lyre:
Thus you move the Rauriac Basel citizens with the Clarian Apollo-like tortoiseshell,
When you strike the strings with leaping thumb.
And you make them marvel: you make them hold their mouths intent:
With the sweet power of the honey-flowing shell.
Skilled in singing, indeed you also add a vocal
Song: and it is pleasing to have gone to four voices.
At times you walk under the lime trees in the green shade:
Which the very pleasant plains of Peter hold.
And you meditate on faithful help for the reclining sick:
Whose languid beds you frequently approach:

In the Museum of Dr. Felix, there are, as it were, flutes, lyres, citharas, pipes: and other musical instruments, etc.

practice of Dr. Felix,