Napen alloquitur, ut paratas tabellas ad Corinnam perferat.
In skilful gathering ruffled hairs in order,
NapË, free-born, whose cunning hath no border,
Thy service for night's scapes is known commodious,
And to give signs dull wit to thee is odious.
Corinna clips me oft by thy persuasion:
Never to harm me made thy faith evasion.
Receive these lines; them to my mistress carry;
Be sedulous; let no stay cause thee tarry,
Nor flint nor iron are in thy soft breast,
But pure simplicity in thee doth rest.
And 'tis supposed Love's bow hath wounded thee;
Defend the ensigns of thy war in me.
If what I do, she asks, say "hope for night;"
The rest my hand doth in my letters write.
Time passeth while I speak; give her my writ,
But see that forthwith she peruseth it.
I charge thee mark her eyes and front in reading:
By speechless looks we guess at things succeeding.
Straight being read, will her to write much back,
I hate fair paper should writ matter lack.
Let her make verses and some blotted letter
On the last edge to stay mine eyes the better.
What needs she tire her hand to hold the quill?
Let this word "Come," alone the tables fill.
Then with triumphant laurel will I grace them
And in the midst of Venus' temple place them,
Subscribing, that to her I consecrate
My faithful tables, being vile maple late.