Thus the the captive did deliver;
The captive thus gave up his quiver.
The God disarm'd, e'er fince that day,
Paffes his life in harmless play;
Flies round, or fits upon her breast,
A little, fluttering, idle gueft.
E'er fince that day, the beauteous maid
Governs the world in Cupid's stead;
Directs his arrow as she wills;
Gives grief, or pleafure; fpares, or kills.
BEHIND her neck her comely treffes tied,
Her ivory quiver graceful by her fide,
A-hunting Cloe went: fhe loft her way,
And through the woods uncertain chanc'd to ftray
Apollo, paffing by, beheld the maid;
And, fifter dear, bright Cynthia, turn, he faid:
The hunted hind lies clofe in yonder brake.
Loud Cupid laugh'd, to fee the God's mistake;
And, laughing, cried, Learn better, great divine,
To know thy kindred, and to honour mine.
Rightly advis'd, far hence thy fister seek,
Or on Meander's bank, or Latmus' peak.
But in this nymph, my friend, my fister know:
She draws my arrows, and she bends my bow :
Fair Thames the haunts, and every neighbouring grove,
Sacred to foft recefs, and gentle love.
Go, with thy Cynthia, hurl the pointed fpear
At the rough boar, or chase the flying deer :
I and my Cloe take a nobler aim:
At human hearts we fling, nor ever mifs the game.
N Heaven, one holy-day, you read
In wife Anacreon, Ganymede
Drew heedlefs Cupid in, to throw
A main, to pafs an hour, or fo.
The little Trojan, by the way,
By Hermes taught, play'd all the play.
The god unhappily engag'd,
By nature rash, by play enrag'd,
Complain'd, and figh'd, and cried, and fretted; .
Loft every earthly thing he betted:
In ready money, all the store
Pick'd-up long fince from Danaë's shower;
A fnuff-box, fet with bleeding hearts,
Rubies, all pierc'd with diamond darts;
His nine-pins made of myrtle wood
(The tree in Ida's foreft ftood);
His bowl pure gold, the very fame
Which Paris gave the Cyprian dame;
Two table-books in fhagreen covers,
Fill'd with good verfe from real lovers;
Merchandise rare! a billet-doux,
Its matter paflionate, yet true;
Heaps of hair-rings, and cypher'd feals;
Rich trifles; serious bagatelles.
What fad diforders play begets!
Desperate and mad, at length he fets:
Those darts, whofe points makes gods adore
His night, and deprecate his power:
Those darts, whence all our joy and pain
Cries Ganymede: the ufual trick: .
Seven, flur a fix; eleven: a nick.
Ill news goes fast: 'twas quickly known,
That fimple Cupid was undone.
Swifter than lightning Venus flew :
Too late the found the thing too true.
Guess how the goddess greets her fon :
Come hither, firrah; no, begone;
And, hark ye, is it fo indeed?
A comrade you for Ganymede ?
An imp as wicked, for his age,
any earthly lady's page;
A fcandal and a scourge to Troy ;
A prince's fon; a black-guard boy;
A fharper, that with box and dice
Draws in young deities to vice.
All Heaven is by the ears together,
Since first that little rogue came hither :
Juno herself has had no peace:
And truly I 've been favour'd lefs :
For Jove, as Fame reports (but Fame
Says things not fit for me to name),
Has acted ill for fuch a god,
And taken ways extremely odd.
And thou, unhappy child, fhe faid,
(Her anger by her grief allay'd)
Unhappy child, who thus haft loft
All the eftate we e'er could boast
Whither, O whither wilt thou run,
Thy name defpis'd, thy weakness known?
Nor fhall thy fhrine on earth be crown'd;
Nor fhall thy power in Heaven be own'd;
When thou nor man nor god canst wound.
Obedient Cupid kneeling cried,
Ceafe, deareft mother, cease to chide :
Gany's a cheat, and I'm a bubble :
Yet why this great excess of trouble?
The dice were falfe: the darts are gone :
Yet how are you, or I, undone ?
The loss of these I can supply
With keener fhafts from Cloe's eye :
Fear not we e'er can be difgrac'd,
While that bright magazine shall last :
Your crouded altars ftill fhall smoke;
And man your friendly aid invoke:
Jove fhall again revere your power,
And rise a swan, or fall a shower.
S after noon, one fummer's day,
Venus flood bathing in a river;
Cupid a-fhooting went that way,
New ftrung his bow, new fill'd his quiver.
With skill he chofe his fharpeft dart,
With all his might his bow he drew;
Swift to his beauteous parent's heart
The too-well-guided arrow flew.
III.
I faint! I die! the goddess cried :
O cruel, could'st thou find none other,
To wreck thy fpleen on ? parricide!
Like Nero, thou haft flain thy mother.
IV.
Poor Cupid fobbing fcarce could speak;
Indeed, Mamma, I did not know ye :
Alas! how eafy my mistake?
I took you for your
WHEN Cloe's picture was to Venus shown;
Surpriz'd, the goddess took it for her own.
And what, faid fhe, does this bold painter mean?
When was I bathing thus, and naked feen ?
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