I
Come, my songs, let us speak of perfection
We shall get ourselves rather disliked.
 
II
Ah yes, my songs, let us resurrect
The very excellent term Rusticus.
Let us apply it in all its opprobrium
To those to whom it applies.
And you may decline to make them immortal,
For we shall consider them and their state
In delicate
Opulent silence.
 
III
Come, my songs,
Let us take arms against this sea of stupidities–
Beginning with Mumpodorus;
And against this sea of vulgarities
Beginning with Nimmim;
And against this sea of imbeciles
All the Bulmenian literati.

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