Grant now, Madame of the Night, permanent calm minded ways; and you,
Her Dark Tempting Master, moderate lecherous squinting.
Down, shift shaded neon, the twelve thousand gorgeous lures:
Pure may linger above now, gifted, this one.

Here let thy clemency, Persephone, hold firm,
Do thou, Pluto, bring here no greater harshness.
So many thousand beauties are gone down to Avernus,
Ye Might let one remain above with us.

Haec tua, Persephone, maneat clementia, nec tu,
Persephones coniunx, saevior esse velis.
Sunt apud infernos tot milia formosarum:
Pulchra sit in superis, si licet, una.