And in thy pomp horned Apis with thee keep,—
Turn thy looks hither, and in one spare twain:
Thou givest my mistress life, she mine again.
She oft hath served thee upon certain days,
Where the French[306] rout engirt themselves with bays.
On labouring women thou dost pity take,
Whose bodies with their heavy burdens ache;20
My wench, Lucina, I entreat thee favour;
Worthy she is, thou should'st in mercy save her.
In white, with incense, I'll thine altars greet,