An act of thanksgiving of Conrad Celtis, Poet Laureate, to Emperor Frederick the Third after the imposition of the poetic laurel crown.

Caesar, you clothe my temples with the green laurel
Behold, the sacred laurel adorns my hair
But I, always grateful to you for such a gift
Will sing your praises here and everywhere
Not my own virtue made me worthy of such a gift now
But the Sword-bearer an epithet for the Emperor of the empire, the Prince

To Frederick, Duke of Saxony, Elector.

Sword-bearer of the empire, clear and noble Elector
Duke, O glory of your fatherland, and its hope and salvation
What shall I return to you, what gifts for such a favor
While you, as leader, place wreaths upon my hair
Am I dust and shadow? Virtue only after funerals
Holds a name that is inextinguishable and survives
I will strive to speak this virtue for you, Frederick
Singing of you and yours to those who will come
You will be immortal, about to die in no time
Nor will I suffer time to have its own strengths

To Doctor Schrenck, ducal senator.

Nor are you to be ignored by me, venerable senator
You are now to be celebrated by our songs
I have read your character, your tongue is eloquent
With which you are able, learned man, to bend stiff beasts
Receive my manifold thanks with a calm breast
Receive, as I have often felt the help of your speech

To the imperial astrologer.

Gronigen, the astrologer, fatal arbiter of the world
Who has deigned to help our ship often
You will be counted not least among dear friends
You who favor me, bound by an old love