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 1 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 10 THE DOVE. Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ ?- VIRG. N Virgil's sacred verse we find, That passion can depress or raise But if they should; what our great master In complaisance poor Cupid mourn'd; 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 Each had his lantern in his hand: appear: And Venus 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: 20 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, 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. In bed indeed the nymph had been Unless piquet was in the way. She wak'd, be sure, with strange surprise, Have you observ'd a sitting hare, Listening, and fearful of the storm Or have you mark'd a partridge quake, Nor would she stay; nor dares she fly. Then have you seen the beauteous maid; Then sunk it deep beneath the clothes. 40 50 60 Venus this while was in the chamber It smelt so strong of myrrh and amber— But since we have no present need With Cupid let us e'en proceed; Hold up your head: hold up your hand : For that by secret malice stirr'd, Her blushing face the lovely maid Nor glows so red, nor breathes so sweet. 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. |