תמונות בעמוד
PDF

I faint' I die the goddess cried;
O cruel, couldst thou find none other, 10

To wrack thy spleen on ? Parricide :
Like Nero, thou hast slain thy mother.

Poor Cupid sobbing scarce could speak;
Indeed, mamma, I did not know ye:

Alas! how easy my mistake;
I took you for your likeness, Cloe.

WENUS MISTAKEN.

HEN Cloe's picture was to Wenus shown, }/o Surpris'd, the goddess took it for her s OWI1. And what, said she, does this bold painter mean? When was l bathing thus, and naked seen 2

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.

[graphic]

A SONG.

§ F wine and music have the power Nā 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; Wenus, be thou to-morrow great; 10 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.

THE DOWE.

— Tantaene animis coelestibus irae?— Virg.

#N Virgil's sacred verse we find,

* That passion can depress or raise

The heavenly, as the human mind:
Who dare deny what Virgil says?

[graphic]
[graphic]

But if they should; what our great master
Has thus laid down, my tale shall prove.

Fair Wenus wept the sad disaster
Of having lost her favourite Dove.

In complaisance poor Cupid mourn'd;
His grief reliev'd his mother's pain;

He vow'd he'd leave no stone unturn'd,
But she should have her Dove again.

Though none, said he, shall yet be nam’d,
I know the felon well enough:

But be she not, mamma, condemn'd
Without a fair and legal proof.

With that, his longest dart he took,
As constable would take his staff:

That gods desire like men to look,
Would make e'en Heraclitus laugh. 20

Love's subalterns, a duteous band,
Like watchmen round their chief appear:

Each had his lantern in his hand:
And Wenus mask'd brought up the rear.

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.

With one great peal they rap the door,
Like footmen on a visiting day.

Folks at her house at such an hour !
Lord! what will all the neighbours say?

The door is open : up they run:
Nor prayers, nor threats divert their speed:

Thieves' thieves | cries Susan; we’re undone;
They'll kill my mistress in her bed. 40

In bed indeed the nymph had been
Three hours: for all historians say,

She commonly went up at ten,
Unless piquet was in the way.

She wak'd, be sure, with strange surprise,
O Cupid, is this right or law,

Thus to disturb the brightest eyes,
That ever slept, or ever saw 2

Have you observ'd a sitting hare,
Listening, and fearful of the storm 50

Of horns and hounds, clap back her ear,
Afraid to keep, or leave her form 2

Or have you mark'd a partridge quake,
Viewing the towering falcon nigh 2

She cuddles low behind the brake :
Nor would she stay; nor dares she fly.

Then have you seen the beauteous maid;
When gazing on her midnight foes,

She turn'd each way her frighted head,
Then sunk it deep beneath the clothes, 60

Venus this while was in the chamber
Incognito: for Susan said,

It smelt so strong of myrrh and amber—
And Susan is no lying maid.

But since we have no present need
Of Venus for an episode,

With Cupid let us e'en proceed;
And thus to Cloe spoke the god:

Hold up your head: hold up your hand:
Would it were not my lot to show ye 70

This cruel writ, wherein you stand
Indicted by the name of Cloe:

For that by secret malice stirr'd,
Or by an emulous pride invited,

You have purloin'd the fav'rite bird,
In which my mother most delighted.

Her blushing face the lovely maid
Rais'd just above the milk-white sheet.

A rose-tree in a lily bed
Nor glows so red, nor breathes so sweet. 80

Are you not he whom virgins fear,
And widows court? is not your name

Cupid? If so, pray come not near—
Fair maiden, I’m the very same.

Then what have I, good Sir, to say,
Or do with her, you call your mother?

If I should meet her in my way,
We hardly courtesy to each other.

« הקודםהמשך »