To The Queen-Mother Of France, Upon Her Landing.[1]

Great Queen of Europe! where thy offspring wears All the chief crowns; where princes are thy heirs; As welcome thou to sea-girt Britain's shore, As erst Latona (who fair Cynthia bore) To Delos was; here shines a nymph as bright, By thee disclosed, with like increase of light. Why was her joy in Belgia confined? Or why did you so much regard the wind? Scarce could the ocean, though enraged, have toss'd Thy sov'reign bark, but where th'obsequious coast Pays tribute to thy bed. Rome's conqu'ring hand More vanquished nations under her command Never reduced. Glad Berecynthia so Among her deathless progeny did go; A wreath of towers adorn'd her rev'rend head, Mother of all that on ambrosia fed. Thy godlike race must sway the age to come, As she Olympus peopled with her womb.

Would those commanders of mankind obey Their honour'd parent, all pretences lay Down at your royal feet, compose their jars, And on the growing Turk discharge these wars; The Christian knights that sacred tomb should wrest From Pagan hands, and triumph o'er the East; Our England's Prince, and Gallia's Dolphin, might Like young Rinaldo and Tancredi fight; In single combat by their swords again The proud Argantes and fierce Soldan slain; Again might we their valiant deeds recite, And with your Tuscan Muse exalt the fight.

'Her landing': Mary de Medicis, widow of Henry IV., and mother of the King of France, and of the Queens of England and Spain, coming to England in 1638, was very ill received by the people, and forced ultimately to leave the country. 'Tuscan Muse': Tasso.