1. O judge of radiant renown,

    you who have risen above the judges of the age,

  2. we have gathered in a rugged place,

    a cramped dwelling and a moonlit resting place,

  3. empty of good and abounding in evil.

    We suffer two seasons of pain and distress:

  4. a night of mosquitoes and a scorching day.

    I have therefore lost my fortitude and patience,

  5. and when my thoughts come, I have nothing

    but to lament the crushing afflictions of my plight

  6. with a pen that sets them down in a line,

    addressed to a young man of refinement and rank.

  7. So hear my complaint, and kindly excuse me.

    My inkwell has run entirely dry of ink,

  8. and I found none for sale that I might buy.

    So grant me some—may God grant you long life—

  9. as much ink as this, and reap my thanks abundantly

    in both fine verse and prose.

  10. Many a lofty glory and source of pride

    has a noble man attained by giving but little.

Sol 6.1