§4.3.1Magna minorque ferae, quarum regis altera Graias, §4.3.2altera Sidonias, utraque sicca, rates, §4.3.3omnia cum summo positae videatis in axe, §4.3.4et maris occiduas non subeatis aquas, §4.3.5aetheriamque suis cingens amplexibus arcem §4.3.6vester ab intacta circulus extet humo, §4.3.7aspicite illa, precor, quae non bene moenia quondam §4.3.8dicitur Iliades transiluisse Remus, §4.3.9inque meam nitidos dominam convertite vultus, §4.3.10sitque memor nostri necne, referte mihi. §4.3.11ei mihi, cur timeam? quae sunt manifesta, requiro.
Great and Lesser Bear, of which one guides Greek, the other Sidonian ships, both remaining dry, since you see all things positioned on the highest axis, and do not sink into the western waters of the sea, and your circle, girding the ethereal citadel with its embraces, stands out from the untouched ground, look upon those walls, I pray, which once Remus, son of Ilia, is said to have leaped over with ill omen, and turn your bright countenances toward my mistress, and report to me whether she is mindful of us or not. Ah me, why should I fear?
§4.3.12cur iacet ambiguo spes mea mixta metu? §4.3.13crede, quod est et vis, ac desine tuta vereri, §4.3.14deque fide certa sit tibi certa fides, §4.3.15quodque polo fixae nequeunt tibi dicere flammae, §4.3.16non mentitura tu tibi voce refer, §4.3.17esse tui memorem, de qua tibi maxima cura est, §4.3.18quodque potest, secum nomen habere tuum §4.3.19vultibus illa tuis tamquam praesentis inhaeret, §4.3.20teque remota procul, si modo vivit, amat. §4.3.21ecquid, ubi incubuit iusto mens aegra dolori, §4.3.22lenis ab admonito pectore somnus abit? §4.3.23tunc subeunt curae, dum te lectusque locusque §4.3.24tangit et oblitam non sinit esse mei, §4.3.25et veniunt aestus, et nox inmensa videtur, §4.3.26fessaque iactati corporis ossa dolent? §4.3.27non equidem dubito, quin haec et cetera fiant, §4.3.28detque tuus maesti signa doloris amor, §4.3.29nec cruciere minus, quam cum Thebana cruentum §4.3.30Hectora Thessalico vidit ab axe rapi. §4.3.31quid tamen ipse precer dubito, nec dicere possum, §4.3.32affectum quem te mentis habere velim. §4.3.33tristis es? indignor quod sim tibi causa doloris; §4.3.34non es? at amisso coniuge digna fores. §4.3.35tu vero tua damna dole, mitissima coniunx, §4.3.36tempus et a nostris exige triste malis, §4.3.37Aeque meos casus: est quaedam flere voluptas; §4.3.38expletur lacrimis egeriturque dolor, §4.3.39atque utinam lugenda tibi non vita, sed esset §4.3.40mors mea, morte fores sola relicta mea! §4.3.41spiritus hic per te patrias exisset in auras, §4.3.42sparsissent lacrimae pectora nostra piae, §4.3.43supremoque die notum spectantia caelum §4.3.44texissent digiti lumina nostra tui, §4.3.45et cinis in tumulo positus iacuisset avito, §4.3.46tactaque nascenti corpus haberet humus; §4.3.47denique, ut et vixi, sine crimine mortuus essem. §4.3.48nunc mea supplicio vita pudenda suo est. §4.3.49me miserum, si tu, cum dicens exulis uxor, §4.3.50avertis vultus et subit ora rubor! §4.3.51me miserum, si turpe putas mihi nupta videri! §4.3.52me miserum, si te iam pudet esse meam! §4.3.53tempus ubi est illud, quo te iactare solebas §4.3.54coniuge, nec nomen dissimulare viri? §4.3.55tempus ubi est, quo te —nisi non vis illa referri— §4.3.56et dici, memini, iuvit et esse meam? §4.3.57utque proba dignum est, omni tibi dote placebam: §4.3.58addebat veris multa faventis amor. §4.3.59nec, quem praeferres—ita res tibi magna videbar— §4.3.60quemque tuum malles esse, vir alter erat. §4.3.61nunc quoque ne pudeat, quod sis mihi nupta; tuusque §4.3.62non debet dolor hinc, debet abesse pudor, §4.3.63cum cecidit Capaneus subito temerarius ictu, §4.3.64num legis Euadnen erubuisse viro? §4.3.65nec quia rex mundi compescuit ignibus ignes, §4.3.66ipse suis Phaëthon infitiandus erat. §4.3.67nec Semele Cadmo facta est aliena parenti, §4.3.68quod precibus periit ambitiosa suis. §4.3.69nec tibi, quod saevis ego sum Iovis ignibus ictus, §4.3.70purpureus molli fiat in ore pudor. §4.3.71sed magis in curam nostri consurge tuendi, §4.3.72exemplumque mihi coniugis esto bonae, §4.3.73materiamque tuis tristem virtutibus imple: §4.3.74ardua per praeceps gloria vadit iter. §4.3.75Hectora quis nosset, si felix Troia fuisset? §4.3.76publica virtutis per mala facta via est. §4.3.77ars tua, Tiphy, iacet, si non sit in aequore fluctus: §4.3.78si valeant homines, ars tua, Phoebe, iacet. §4.3.79quae latet inque bonis cessat non cognita rebus, §4.3.80apparet virtus arguiturque malis. §4.3.81dat tibi nostra locum tituli fortuna, caputque §4.3.82conspicuum pietas qua tua tollat, habet. §4.3.83utere temporibus, quorum nunc munere facta est §4.3.84et patet in laudes area lata tuas.
I ask for what is manifest. Why does my hope lie mixed with ambiguous fear? Believe what is and what you wish, and cease to fear what is safe, and let there be for you a certain trust from certain loyalty, and what the flames fixed in the sky cannot tell you, report to yourself with a voice that will not lie, that she of whom you have the greatest care is mindful of you, and, as far as she can, holds your name with her. She clings to your features as if you were present, and loves you, removed far away, if only she lives. Does gentle sleep depart from her admonished breast, when her sick mind has brooded over just grief? Then do cares creep in, while both the bed and the place touch her and do not allow her to be forgetful of me, and hot tossings come, and the night seems immense, and the weary bones of her tossed body ache? Indeed I do not doubt but that these and other things happen, and that your love gives signs of sad grief, and that you are tortured no less than when the Theban woman saw bloody Hector dragged from the Thessalian chariot. Yet what I myself should pray for I doubt, nor can I say what state of mind I would wish you to have. Are you sad? I am indignant that I should be the cause of your grief; Are you not? Yet as one who has lost her husband, you would be worthy. Rather, grieve for your losses, most gentle wife, and spend a sad time because of our misfortunes, and weep for my fates: there is a certain pleasure in weeping; grief is satisfied and carried out by tears, and would that not my life, but my death were to be lamented by you, and that you were left alone by my death! This spirit of mine would have gone out through you into my native air, pious tears would have sprinkled our breast, and on my last day, your fingers would have closed our eyes looking at the familiar sky, and my ash would have lain placed in an ancestral tomb, and the ground touched at birth would possess my body; in short, as I lived, so I would have died without crime. Now my life must be ashamed of its own punishment. Wretched me, if you, when called the wife of an exile, turn away your face and a blush rises to your cheeks! Wretched me, if you think it shameful to be seen married to me! Wretched me, if you are now ashamed to be mine! Where is that time when you used to boast of your husband, nor hide the name of your man? Where is the time when—unless you do not wish those things to be recalled— it pleased you, as I remember, both to be called and to be mine? And as is fitting for an honest wife, I pleased you with every endowment: a favoring love added many things to the true ones. Nor was there another man whom you would prefer—so great a thing I seemed to you— and whom you would rather have as yours. Now also let it not shame you that you are married to me; your grief ought to be here, but shame ought to be absent, when rash Capaneus fell by a sudden blow, did you read that Evadne blushed for her husband? Nor, because the king of the world quenched fires with fires, was Phaethon himself to be disowned by his own. Nor was Semele made a stranger to her parent Cadmus, because she perished, ambitious in her prayers. Nor because I have been struck by the savage fires of Jove, let a purple shame rise on your soft face. But rather rise up to the care of protecting me, and be to me an example of a good wife, and fill the sad material with your virtues: steep glory walks through a precipitous path. Who would know Hector, if Troy had been happy? The path of virtue is made through public misfortunes. Your art, Tiphys, lies idle if there is no wave on the sea; if men are well, your art, Phoebus, lies idle. That virtue which lies hidden and ceases unrecognized in good times, appears and is proved in adversity. Our fortune gives you a place for renown, and your piety has a spot where it may lift its conspicuous head. Use the times, by whose gift now a wide field is made and open for your praises.