The poem
Let us, though late, at last, my Silvia, wed; And loving lie in one devoted bed. Thy watch may stand, my minutes fly post haste; No sound calls back the year that once is past. Then, sweetest Silvia, let's no longer stay; True love, we know, precipitates delay. Away with doubts, all scruples hence remove! No man, at one time, can be wise, and love.