rerum certa salus, terrarum gloria, Caesar,
sospite quo magnos credimus esse deos,
si festinatis totiens tibi lecta libellis
detinuere oculos carmina nostra tuos,
quod fortuna uetat fieri permitte uideri,
natorum genitor credar ut esse trium.
haec, si displicui, fuerint solacia nobis;
haec fuerint nobis praemia, si placui.
O sure salvation of the world, the glory of the earth, Caesar, while you are safe we believe that the gods exist. If my poems, so often read by you in hasty little books, have detained your eyes, permit that what Fortune has forbidden might seem to be: that I should be considered to be the father of three children. If I have displeased, this will be my consolation; this will be my reward if I have pleased.