Mousegetes turn favorable regard upon me as I sing of the gods this day,
For I sing of you great Apollon who bears the instruments of purification.
And there beneath your golden foot disease and plague does lay,
There the mighty serpent lies bloodied, dead and slain.
Vanquisher of the foul I sing to you, who drive plague from the door,
A sacrifice that renews, the blood of the dead becomes the living speaking river.
Hail Apollon, mighty is the sword, the bow and the flying arrow,
And those shafts of light that devoured the torn flesh of Python,
May they consume and bring to waste the ills harbored within men alike.
That which you touch you do strip bare before you,
That which you see is completely revealed in your emanation,
Maddened pestilence, bringer of foul offerings, lays exposed.
Your hand does wield the arrow and sword which drives it forth,
And your light penetrates all, to rot and decay the bloated venomous serpent.
And there the voices rise to sing from the throats of women and men, ie paean!
To Pythios, destroyer of the predator pestilence that feasts with many mouths upon us.
Rejoice in the death of the plague to men and his beasts, the sickness and gossipy tongue,
The devourer has been shorn of his teeth and claws and lies now as dust beneath you.