Triplum
 Hail flower of the Tuscan race, Florence, hail,
 O hail great glory of Italy's soil,
 Hail fortunate mother who begets
 So many learned disciples,
 So many great men in counsel and faith;
 Who bears so many men outstanding
 For their wonderful integrity,
 So many outstanding for their piety;
 Hail city to which is owed whatever
 There is of true art,
 Whatever there is of talent, and whatever
 There is of eloquence.
 Hail, you who, with fame spread through the whole world,
 Send and convey your children to the stars.
 Now I have sung, and welcome voices
 Have pleased with their song,
 Nor do they seek reward or money at the same time.
 I am not tired with this song
 But look, you are tired of my singing,
 Yet live, live to be sung of in my songs!

Motetus
 You now, radiance of Tuscany, hail o maidens.
 Thus it rests on my spirit
 And I stay here not without love.
 They stand at the doors like Nymphs, they stand
 Like Naiads
 Or like Amazons or rich suitors of Venus.
 Every man is excited for their embraces
 And sweet kisses;
 If once he sees them, he will fall love's captive.
 These songs, o goddesses of this world, I Guillaume have sung,
 Born du Fay indeed, yours through all ages.