His might, and deprecate his power: Those darts, whence all our joy and pain Seven, slur a six; eleven, a nick. Ill news goes fast: 'twas quickly known," And thou, unhappy child, she said 40 50 60 Nor shall thy shrine on earth be crown'd; The dice were false: the darts are gone: The loss of these I can supply 70 CUPID MISTAKEN. S after noon, one summer's day, Venus stood bathing in a river, Cupid a-shooting went that way, New strung his bow, new fill'd his quiver. With skill he chose his sharpest dart, I faint! I die! the goddess cried; O cruel, couldst thou find none other, To wrack thy spleen on? Parricide! Like Nero, thou hast slain thy mother. Poor Cupid sobbing scarce could speak; I took you for your likeness, Cloe. 10 VENUS MISTAKEN. HEN Cloe's picture was to Venus shown, own. And what, said she, does this bold painter mean? When was I bathing thus, and naked seen? Pleas'd Cupid.heard, and check'd his mother's pride: And who's blind now, mamma? the urchin cried. 'Tis Cloe's eye, and cheek, and lip, and breast: Friend Howard's genius fancied all the rest. A SONG. F wine and music have the power To ease the sickness of the soul; Let Phoebus every string explore; And Bacchus fill the sprightly bowl. Let them their friendly aid employ, To make my Cloe's absence light; And seek for pleasure, to destroy The sorrows of this live-long night. But she to-morrow will return; Venus, be thou to-morrow great; Thy myrtles strow, thy odours burn; And meet thy fav'rite nymph in state. Kind goddess, to no other powers Let us to-morrow's blessings own: Thy darling loves shall guide the hours, And all the day be thine alone. 10 THE DOVE. Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ ?-VIRG. N Virgil's sacred verse we find, That passion can depress or raise Who dare deny what Virgil says? But if they should; what our great master Of having lost her favourite Dove. In complaisance poor Cupid mourn'd; But she should have her Dove again. Though none, said he, shall yet be nam'd, With that, his longest dart he took, Love's subalterns, a duteous band, Like watchmen round their chief appear: Accoutred thus, their eager step To Cloe's lodging they directed: (At once I write, alas! and weep, That Cloe is of theft suspected.) Late they set out, had far to go: St. Dunstan's, as they pass'd, struck one. 30 Cloe, for reasons good, you know, Lives at the sober end o' th' town. |