I: Who shall take thee, the new, the dainty volume

Who shall take thee, the new, the dainty volume,
Purfled glossily, fresh with ashy pumice?

You, Cornelius; you of old did hold them
Something worthy, the petty witty nothings,

While you venture, alone of all Italians,
Time's vast chronicle in three books to circle,
Jove! how arduous, how divinely learned!

Therefore welcome it, yours the little outcast,
This slight volume. O yet, supreme awarder,
Virgin, save it in ages on for ever.