But if they should, what our great mafter Has thus laid down my tale fhall Fair Venus wept the fad disaster Of having loft her fav'rite dove. III. In complaifance poor Cupid mourn'd His grief reliev'd his mother's pain; He vow'd he'd leave no stone unturn'd But the fhould have her Dove again.
Tho' none, faid he, fhall yet be nam'd, I know the felon well enough: But be the not Mamma condemn'd Without a fair and legal proof.
With that his longeft dart he took, As conftable would take his staff; That gods defire like men to look Would make ev'n Heraclitus laugh.
Love's fubaltern, a duteous band,
Like watchmen round their chief appear; Each had his lantern in his hand,
And Venus mafk'd brought up the rear.
Accouter'd thus, their eager step To Cloe's lodging they directed: (At once I write, alas! and weep, That Cloe is of theft fufpected.)
Late they fet out, had far to go: St. Dunstan's as they pafs'd ftruck one. Cloe for reafons good, you know,
Lives at the fober end o'th' Town.
With one great peal they rap the door, Like footmen on a vifiting day. Folks at her houfe at fuch an hour! Lord! what will all the neighbours say?
The door is open up they run;
Nor pray'rs nor threats divert their speed:
They'll kill my mistress in her bed.
Thieves! thieves! cries Sufan; we're undone ;
She wak'd, be fure, with strange surprise. O Cupid, is this right or law,
Thus to disturb the brighteft eyes That ever flept or ever faw?
Have you obferv'd a fitting hare, Lift'ning and fearful of the ftorm Of horns and hounds, clap back her ear, Afraid to keep or leave her form?
Or have you mark'd a partridge quake, Viewing the towring falcon nigh? She cuddles low behind the brake, Nor would she stay nor dare the fly.
Then have you feen the beauteous maid, When, gazing on her midnight foes, She turned each way her frighted head, Then funk it deep beneath the clothes,
Venus this while was in the chamber
Incognito; for Sufan faid
It fmelt fo ftrong of myrrh and amber- And Sufan is no lying maid.
But fince we have no prefent need Of Venus for an episode,
With Cupid let us e’en proceed, And thus to Cloe fpoke the god :
Hold up your head, hold up your Would it were not my lot to fhew ye This cruel writ, wherein you ftand Indicted by the name of Cloe :
For that by fecret malice stirr'd, Or by an em'lous pride invited, You have purloin'd the fav'rite bird In which my mother most delighted.
Her blufhing face the lovely maid Rais'd just above the milk-white sheet, A rofe-tree in a lily-bed
Nor glows fo red nor breathes fo fweet. XXI.
you not he whom virgins fear And widows court? Is not your name Cupid? If fo pray come not near
Fair maiden, I'm the
Then what have I, Or do with her you call your If I fhould meet her in my way We hardly curt'fy to each other.
good Sir, to fay mother?
XXIII. Diana chafte and Hebe sweet Witness that what I speak is true; I would not give my paroquet For all the doves that ever flew.
Yet, to compofe this midnight noise, Go freely fearch where'er you please ; (The rage that rais'd adorn'd her voice) Upon yon' toilet lie my keys.
Her keys he takes, her doors unlocks, Thro' wardrobe and thro' closet bounces, Peeps into ev'ry cheft and box,
Turns all her furbelows and flounces.
But Dove, depend on't, finds he none, So to the bed returns again; And now the maiden, bolder grown, Begins to treat him with disdain.
No traitor, angry Love replies,
He's hid fomewhere about your breast; A place nor god nor man denies
For Venus' Dove the proper neft.
Search then, fhe faid; put in your hand, And Cynthia, dear protectress, guard me, As guilty I or free may stand
Do thou or punish or reward me. XXX.
But, ah! what maid to Love can trust? He fcorns and breaks all legal pow'r ; Into her breaft his hand he thrust, And in a moment forc'd it lower.
O, whither do thofe fingers rove, Cries Cloe, treacherous urchin, whither? O Venus! I fhall find thy Dove, Says he, for fure I touch his feather.
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