While Iacchus [Jacquet] wondered at the vast waves of the Adriatic, 
and the rage of the furious whirlpool, 
and the waters churned up from the deep seabed, 
and Scylla & the quicksands of Syrtes, 
and monsters unknown in any age, 
with a vine-frond girt about his fair temples, 
he sang these artful verses with an antique sound:

"Let us recount, ye Muses, Josquin's ancient loves, 
whose bidding the ruler of Olympus did, 
beyond the eternal course and governance of the world, 
as the Mother stood pitying and, remaining inviolate, 
bewailed with seemly tears her Son, 
slain by an unjust judgement. 
Hail, o most holy one, hail queen; 
and thou, highest God, have pity, 
to whom every year I shall heap up the altars 
with a calf and unfailing gifts.

He finished. The rustling reeds repeated everything, 
and the river Mincio nodded approval with his clear waters.