Daughter of Jove, forbear to wreak
Impending vengeance, though the tongue,
O Nemesis, its boastful strain prolong:
I the free dictates of my soul will speak.
Thou com’st, brave son of that illustrious spring,
Thou com’st thrice welcome to our social hall:
At length doth thy Pierian mother bring
Her favoured child, while ling’ring in his fall,
Adorned by many a bridge, thee with paternal call.