Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.
How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
Poets that lasting marble seek, Must come in Latin or in Greek.
The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So calm are we when passions are no more!
All things but one you can restore; the heart you get returns no more.
Happy the innocent whose equal thoughts are free from anguish as they are from faults.