First 135 words of the document:
What slender youth drenched in dripping perfume makes love to
you, Pyrrha, under a pleasant grotto in many a rose petal? For
whom do you tie back your golden hair, simple with its elegance?
Poor lad, how often will he weep over the transferred loyalty and
the capricious gods and inexperienced he will be amazed at the seas
harsh with black winds, who for the moment trustfully enjoys you in
all your golden beauty, who hopes that you are always available,
always loveable, unaware of the treacherous breeze.
Poor souls, to whom you shine untried.
The temple wall with its votive tablet shows that I have hung up my
soaked clothing to the god who has power over the sea.