Epigram on the Prince's Birth. 1630, An
An art thou born, brave babe? Blessed be thy birth!
That so hath crowned our hopes, our spring, and earth,
The bed of the chaste lily, and the rose!
What month than May, was fitter to disclose
This prince of flowers? Soon shoot thou up, and grow
The same that thou art promised, but be slow,
And long in changing. Let our nephews see
Thee, quickly come the garden's eye to be,
And there to stand so. Haste now, envious moon,
And interpose thyself, (care not how soon)
And threat' the great eclipse. Two hours but run,
Sol will reshine. If not, Charles hath a son.
...Non displicuisse meretur Festinat Caesar qui placuisse tibi.
That so hath crowned our hopes, our spring, and earth,
The bed of the chaste lily, and the rose!
What month than May, was fitter to disclose
This prince of flowers? Soon shoot thou up, and grow
The same that thou art promised, but be slow,
And long in changing. Let our nephews see
Thee, quickly come the garden's eye to be,
And there to stand so. Haste now, envious moon,
And interpose thyself, (care not how soon)
And threat' the great eclipse. Two hours but run,
Sol will reshine. If not, Charles hath a son.
...Non displicuisse meretur Festinat Caesar qui placuisse tibi.
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