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Two table-books in shagreen covers,
What sad disorders play begets !
Ill news goes fast: 'twas quickly known, That simple Cupid was undone. Swifter than lightning Venus flew : Too late she found the thing too true. Guess how the goddess greets her son : Come hither, sirrah : no, begone ; And, hark ye, is it so indeed ? A comrade you for Ganymede ? An imp as wicked, for his age, As any earthly lady's page; A scandal and a scourge to Troy ; A prince's son! a blackguard boy ; A sharper, 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 hall no peace :
And thou, unhappy child, she said,
Obedient Cupid kneeling cried,
The loss of these I can supply
As after noon, one rummer's day,
Venus toond bathing in the river, (piel :1--21001111.2 110.2t that way.
New vrumg hi- bun, new tillil his quiver.
With -kill rhop his harprest dart.
With ali his might his bow he crew; Switi to hi- beslutron prent's heart
The 101) well-guided arrow flew.
I faint! I die! the goddelená (riel ;
() cruel, coulel-t thou find none other, To wreck thy yleen on? Parricide!
Like Vero, thou hast slain thy mother.
Poor ('upil sobbing saree could speak :
Inderd, mamma, I ilid not know ye:
When Cloe's picture was to Venus shown,
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.
IF wine and music have the power
But she to-morrow will return;
Kind goddess, to no other powers
-Tantæne animis cælestibus iræ ?-VIRG.
Iv Virgil's sacred verse we find,
That passion can depress or raise The heavenly as the human mind:
Who dare deny what Virgil says?
But if they should, what our great master
Hlas thus laid down, my tale shall prove. Fair Venus wept the sad disaster
Of having lost her favourite Dove.
In complaisance poor C'upil mourn'd;
Ilis grief reliev'l his mother's pain; He vow'll he'll leave no stone unturn'd,
But she shoukl hare her Dove again.
Though none, sail 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.