A Morbillis Integram.[122]

Musa redi, vocat alma parens Aeademia: noster En redit, ore suo noster Apollo redit; Vultus adhuc suus, et vultu sua purpura tantum Vivit, et admixtas pergit amare nives. Tune illas violare genas? tune illa profanis, Morbe ferox, tentas ire per ora notis? Tu Phoebi faciem tentas, vanissime? Nostra Nec Phoebe maculas novit habere suas. Ipsa sui vindex facies morbum indignatur; Ipsa sedet radiis o bene tuta suis: Quippe illic Deus est. coelumque et sanctius astrum: Quippe sub his totus ridet Apollo genis. Quod facie Rex tutus erat, quod caetera tactus: Hinc hominem Rex est fassus, et inde Deum.

TRANSLATION.

TO THE FACE OF THE MOST AUGUST KING.

UNINJURED BY SMALL-POX.

Come, Muse, at call of thy Academy: With his own face our Phoebus here we see; His face his own yet, with its own red dyed, Which with its whiteness loves to be allied. O fierce disease, dost thou, with marks profane, Attempt these cheeks, that countenance, to stain? Most futile! Dost attempt our Phoebus' face? Not in our Phoebe her own spots canst trace. His self-asserting face disdains disease; 'Mid its own rays it sits, O well at ease. Sure God and heaven and holiest star are here; Sure 'neath these cheeks smiles Phoebus full and clear. Our King being safe in face, but touch'd elsewhere, Proves he was here a god, though a man there. R. WI.