Ad Reginam.[127]

Et vero jam tempus erat tibi, maxima mater, Dulcibus his oculis accelerare diem: Tempus erat, ne qua tibi basia blanda vacarent; Sarcina ne collo sit minus apta tuo. Scilicet ille tuus, timor et spes ille suorum, Quo primum es felix pignore facta parens, Ille ferox iras jam nunc meditatur et enses, Jam patris magis est, jam magis ille suus. Indolis o stimulos; vix dum illi transiit infans, Jamque sibi impatiens arripit ille virum. Improbus ille suis adeo negat ire sub annis: Jam nondum puer est, major et est puero. Si quis in aulaeis pictas animatus in iras Stat leo, quem docta cuspide lusit acus, Hostis, io, est; neque enim ille alium dignabitur hostem; Nempe decet tantas non minor ira manus. Tunc hasta gravis adversum furit; hasta bacillum est; Mox falsum vero vulnere pectus hiat. Stat leo, ceu stupeat tali bene fixus ab hoste, Ceu quid in his oculis vel timeat vel amet, Tam torvum, tam dulce micant: nescire fatetur Mars ne sub his oculis esset, an esset amor. Quippe illic Mars est, sed qui bene possit amari; Est et amor certe, sed metuendus amor: Talis amor, talis Mars est ibi cernere; qualis Seu puer hic esset, sive vir ille Deus. Hic tibi jam scitus succedit in oscula fratris; Res, ecce, in lusus non operosa tuos. Basia jam veniant tua quantacunque caterva; Jam quocunque tuus murmure ludat amor. En, tibi materies tenera et tractabilis hic est; Hic ad blanditias est tibi cera satis. Salve infans, tot basiolis, molle argumentum, Maternis labiis dulce negotiolum; O salve; nam te nato, puer auree, natus Et Carolo et Mariae tertius est oculus.

TRANSLATION.

TO THE QUEEN.

'Twas now the time for thee, Mother most great, With these sweet eyes the day to accelerate; Time thy soft kisses should not idle be, Or from fit burden thy fair neck be free. For he, his parents' fear and hope confest, With whom thou first wast made a mother blest, He wraths and swords designs, courageous grown; Now more his father's is, and more his own. O spurs of nature! yet an infant, see He catches at the man impatiently, The rogue declines to keep in his own years; Not yet a child, he more than child appears. If on the tapestry, with feign'd anger fraught, A lion stands, by skilful needle wrought, A foe behold; such foe to fight he deigns; A lesser wrath his mighty hand disdains. Fierce spear he brandishes; a wand his spear: Soon in false breast behold true wound appear. The lion stands, maz'd by such enemy, Fearing or loving something in his eye, So sternly, sweetly bright; nor can he tell Whether beneath that eye Mars or Love dwell. In sooth, a Mars who may be lov'd is here; And Love indeed, but Love deserving fear. Such Love, such Mars, 'tis easy here to scan; This god or that, as he is boy or man. Thy babe now comes to take the endearing place, A creature not beyond thy fond embrace. Now let thy troops of kisses have their way, Now let thy love with brooding murmur play; Here is material tractable and tender, Which waxen surface to soft touch shall render. Hail, infant! gentle subject for caresses, Employment sweet a mother's lips which blesses; O hail; for with thy birth, thou golden boy, Lo, to thy parents a third eye brings joy! R. WI.