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Heaps of hair-rings, and cypher'd seals;
Rich trifles; serious bagatelles.

What fad disorders play begets!
Desperate and mad, at length he fets

Those darts, whofe points makes gods adore
His might, and deprecate his power:
Those darts, whence all our joy and pain
Arife: thofe darts Come, feven's the main,
Cries Ganymede: the ufual trick:

Seven, flur a fix; eleven: a nick.

Ill news goes faft: 'twas quickly known,
That fimple Cupid was undone.
Swifter than lightning Venus flew :
Too late the found the thing too true.
Guefs how the goddess greets her fon :
Come hither, firrah; 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 fcandal and a scourge to Troy ;-
A prince's fon; a black-guard boy;
A fharper, 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 had no peace :
And truly I've been favour'd lefs :
For Jove, as Fame reports (but Fame
Says things not fit for me to name),

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Has

Has acted ill for fuch a god,
And taken ways extremely odd.
And thou, unhappy child, fhe faid,
(Her anger by her grief allay'd)
Unhappy child, who thus hast lost
All the eftate we e'er could boast;
Whither, O whither wilt thou run,
Thy name defpis'd, thy weak nefs known?
Nor fhall thy fhrine on earth be crown'd ;
Nor fhall thy power in Heaven be own'd;
When thou nor man nor god canft wound.
Obedient Cupid kneeling cried,
Ceafe, dearest mother, ceafe to chide :
Gany's a cheat, and I'm a bubble:
Yet why this great excess of trouble?
The dice were falfe: the darts are gone:
Yet how are you, or I, undone?
The loss of these I can fupply
With keener fhafts from Cloe's eye:
Fear not we e'er can be difgrac'd,
While that bright magazine shall last :
Your crouded altars still shall smoke;
And man your friendly aid invoke:
Jove fhall again revere your power,
And rife a fwan, or fall a fhower.

}

CUPID MISTAKEN.

I.

As after noon, one fummer's day,

Venus flood bathing in a river;

Cupid a-fhooting went that way,

New ftrung his bow, new fill'd his quiver.

II.

With fkill he chofe his fharpeft dart,

With all his might his bow he drew;
Swift to his beauteous parent's heart
The too-well-guided arrow flew.
III.

I faint! I die! the goddess cried :
O cruel, could'ft thou find none other,
To wreck thy fpleen on? parricide!
Like Nero, thou haft flain thy mother.
IV.

Poor Cupid fobbing scarce could speak;
Indeed, Mamma, I did not know ye :
Alas! how eafy my mistake?

I took you for your likeness Cloe.

VENUS MISTAKEN.

WHE

I.

HEN Cloe's picture was to Venus shown; Surpriz'd, the goddefs took it for her own. And what, faid she, does this bold painter mean? When was I bathing thus, and naked feen?

7

II. Pleas'd

II.

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 musick have the power
To ease the sickness of the foul;
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 feek for pleasure, to destroy
The forrows of this live-long night.

But the to-morrow will return:

Venus, be thou to-morrow great;
Thy myrtles ftrow, thy odours burn;
And meet thy favourite nymph in state.
Kind goddess, to no other powers

Let us to-morrow's bleflings own:
Thy darling loves fhall guide the hours;
And all the day be thine alone.

THE

THE

DOVE.

66

IN

Tantæne animis cœleftibus iræ ?" VIRG.

I.

N Virgil's facred verse we find, That paffion can deprefs or raise The heavenly, as the human mind: Who dare deny what Virgil fays?

II.

But, if they fhould, what our great master
Has thus laid down, my tale fhall prove :
Fair Venus wept the fad disaster

Of having loft her favourite 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.
IV.

Though 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.

V.

With that, his longeft dart he took,
As conftable would take his ftaff:

That gods defire like men to look,
Would make ev'n Heraclitus laugh.

VOL. L

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