Praestanti viro, dn. Andr. Ruinellae Ioannis f. Praegallo Rheto, philosophiae & medicinae doctori ad solennem actum XIII. Cal. Maii gratulantur amici

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Whither, Melpomene, do you snatch me? Whither do you lead me, rough one?
Whither do you lead the wretched one? To what caves do you drive me?
What is this new splendor, alas for me, that strikes
And offends my eyes? What is this golden house
Resplendent more clearly than Parian marble?
What countenances do I see? What new faces
Do I admire? But look, what man is present,
Crowned with fiery rays, and drawing his side
Into the dancing choruses of Nymphs? This is Helicon; here, I think, Cynthius Apollo
Holds the scepter among the learned goddesses.
He strikes the beloved lyre here, not without sweet
Songs, joyous. But what, while he resides
On a golden throne, does the crowd of decent
Muses (longing to close this side)
Rush about? Why is the lyre silent?
Why has such a sudden silence occurred?
Look, he addresses them: I, keeping my lips
Closed, shall hear what the divine Delian says.
O Muses, and also you triple Graces,
Great offspring of Jupiter, who are my glory,
Since I am called the father of all of you,
And at once the leader of the Pierian choir:
I ask you now to provide me a ready,
Now an accommodating ear. You know how to bring forth songs,
It is our work, and with the noise of the Lyre
Mixed, to join them to the heavens in song,
And to lift men up with immense praises:
It is our work to bind the temples of the seers
With laurel, to drive away with Paeonian healing/Apollo-related medicines