rosy aurore hath vanquished envious night, while laughing phoebus leisurely awakes to rise, and wax,…

rosy aurore hath vanquished envious night, while laughing phoebus leisurely awakes to rise, and wax, and wane, diminish, die; yet now he is a boy, his golden curls resplendent on the hills, a thousand birds his rustic flute to echo down the dale; and how, my lord, hath fortune’s dizzy wheel thine honored person on this morn disposed?—oops, lol, i mean how are you today? sorry, sometimes it’s hard…