This little-book--and somewhat light--
'Tis polished well, and smoothly bright,
To whom shall I now dedicate?
To you, Cornelius, wont to rate
My trifling wares at highest worth.
E'en then, when boldly you stepped forth,
First of Italians to compose,
In three short books of nervous prose,
All age's annals--work of nice
Research, and studiously concise.
Such as it is receive--and look
With usual favour on my book;
And grant, O queen of wits and sages,
Motherless Virgin, these my pages
May pass from this to future ages.
CURATE.--Queen of wits and sages,--"O Patrima Virgo"--is that
translating?
GRATIAN.--That's right--have at him!
AQUILIUS.--To be sure it is. What English reader would know else that
Minerva was meant by "Motherless Virgin?" he would have to go back to
the story of Jupiter beating her out of his own brains. So as he is not
familiar with the creed, as one of it, I let him into the secret of it
at once; and thus out comes the book from the "Minerva Press," "labe to
bublion."
GRATIAN.--(Reads, "O Patrima Virgo," &c.) Well, well--let it pass. The
dedication won't pay along reckoning. We must not look too nicely into
the mouth of the book--let it speak for itself. Now, Mr. Curate, what
have you?
CURATE.--I didn't trouble myself with such a dedication, but passed on
to "Ad Passerem Lesbiae."
GRATIAN.--More attractive metal.
CURATE.--Not at all attractive; for there is considerable difficulty,
and as I suppose a corrupted text, before we reach six lines. Here I let
the bird loose.
Sparrow, minion of my dear,
Little animated toy,
Whom the fair delights to bear
In her bosom lapt in joy.
Whom she teases and displeases,
With her white forefinger's end,
Thus inviting savage biting
From her tiny feather'd friend.
Image burning of my yearning,
When at fondness she would play;
Thus she takes her aught that makes her
Pensive moments glide away.
'Tis a balm for her soft sorrow,
Tranquillising beauty's breast;
Would I might her plaything borrow,
So to lull my cares to rest.
I would prize it, as the maiden
Prized the golden apple thrown,
Which displacing her in racing,
Loosed at last her virgin zone.
AQUILIUS.--Here lies the difficulty:
"Quum desiderio meo nitenti
Carum nescio quid lubet jocari,
(Ut solatiolum sui doloris
Credunt, quum gravis acquiescet ardor.")
Another edition has it:
"Credo ut gravis acquiescat ardor."
GRATIAN.--Leave it to OEdipus--make sense of it, and we must not be
too nice.
AQUILIUS.--Well, then, it possibly means, that she passes off the pain
of the bite with a little coquetry and action, as we move about a limb
pretty briskly when it tingles.
GRATIAN.--O, the cunning--argumentum ad hominem.