Otho's head is a very dwarf; a rustic's
Shanks has Herius, only semi-cleanly;
Libo's airs to a fume of art refine them.
. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . .
Yet thou flee'st not above my keen iambics.
. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . .
[So may destiny doom me quite to silence]
As I care not if every line offend thee
And Sufficius, age in youth's revival.
. . . . . . . .
Thou shalt kindle at innocent iambics,
Mighty general, once again returning.