I begin to sing of Asclepius, son of Apollo and healer of sicknesses. In the Dotian plain fair Coronis, daughter of King Phlegyas, bare him, a great joy to men, a soother of cruel pangs.
ἰητῆρα νόσων Ἀσκληπιὸν ἄρχομʼ ἀείδειν,υἱὸν Ἀπόλλωνος, τὸν ἐγείνατο δῖα ΚορωνὶςΔωτίῳ ἐν πεδίῳ, κούρη Φλεγύου βασιλῆος,χάρμα μέγʼ ἀνθρώποισι, κακῶν θελκτῆρʼ ὀδυνάων.
And so hail to you, lord: in my song I make my prayer to thee!
καὶ σὺ μὲν οὕτω χαῖρε, ἄναξ· λίτομαι δέ σʼ ἀοιδῇ.