Boy:
 Wake, Quivera, wake, our soft rest must cease,
 And fly together with our country's peace;
 No more must we sleep under plantain's shade,
 Which neither heat could pierce nor cold invade;
 Where bounteous nature never feels decay,
 And opening buds drive falling fruits away. 

Girl:
 Why should men quarrel here, where all possess
 As much as they can hope for by success?
 None can have most where nature is so kind
 As to exceed man's use, though not his mind.
 
Boy:
 By ancient prophecy we have been told,
 Our land shall be subdu'd by one more old;
 And see that world already hither come. 

Girl, Boy:
 If these be they we welcome then our doom. 

Boy:
 Their looks are such that mercy flows from hence,
 More gentle than our native innocence;
 By their protection let us beg to live:
 They come not here to conquer, but forgive. 

Girl, Boy:
 If so your goodness may your power express,
 And we shall judge both best by our success.