Thus the more beauteous Cloe fat to thee,
Good Howard, emulous of the Grecian art:
But happy thou, from Cupid's arrow free,
And flames that pierc'd thy predeceffor's heart!
VII.
Had thy poor breast receiv'd an equal pain;
Had I been vested with the monarch's power;
Thou must have figh'd, unlucky youth, in vain ;
Nor from my bounty hadft thou found a cure.
VIII.
Though, to convince thee that the friend did feel
A kind concern for thy ill-fated care,
I would have footh'd the flame I could not heal; Given thee the world; though I with-held the fair.
BENEATH a myrtle's verdant shade
As Cloe half afleep was laid,
Cupid perch'd lightly on her breast,
And in that heaven defir'd to rest:
Over her paps his wings he fpread;
Between he found a downy bed,
And neftled in his little head.
Still lay the God: the nymph, furpris'd,
Yet mistress of herfelf, devis'd
How the the vagrant might inthral,
And captive him, who captives all.
Her bodice half-way fhe unlac'd;
About his arms she slily cast
The filken bond, and held him faft.
The god awak'd; and thrice in vain
He ftrove to break the cruel chain;
And thrice in vain he fhook his wing,
Incumber'd in the filken ftring.
Fluttering the God, and weeping, faid,
Pity poor Cupid, generous maid,
Who happen'd, being blind, to ftray,
And on thy bofom loft his way;
Who ftray'd, alas! but knew too well,
He never there muft hope to dwell:
Set an unhappy prisoner free,
Who ne'er intended harm to thee.
To me pertains not, she replies,
To know or care where Cupid flies;
What are his haunts, or which his way;
Where he would dwell, or whither stray:
Yet will I never set thee free;
For harm was meant, and harm to me.
Vain fears that vex thy virgin heart!
I'll give thee up my bow and dart;
Untangle but this cruel chain,
And freely let me fly again.
Agreed: fecure my virgin heart :
Inflant give up thy bow and dart :
The chain I'll in return untie ;
And freely thou again fhalt fly.
Thus fhe the captive did deliver;
The captive thus gave up his quiver.
The God difarm'd, e'er fince that day,
Paffes his life in harmless play;
Flies round, or fits upon her breast,
A little, fluttering, idle gueft.
E'er fince that day, the beauteous maid
Governs the world in Cupid's ftead;
Directs his arrow as she wills;
Gives grief, or pleasure; spares, or kills.
BEHIND her neck her comely treffes tied,
Her ivory quiver graceful by her fide,
A hunting Cloe went : fhe loft her way,
And through the woods uncertain chanc'd to ftray.
Apollo, paffing by, beheld the maid;
And, fifter dear, bright Cynthia, turn, he said :
The hunted hind lies close in yonder brake.
Loud Cupid laugh'd, to fee the God's mistake;
And, laughing, cried, Learn better, great divine,
To know thy kindred, and to honour mine.
Rightly advis'd far hence thy fister seek,
Or on Meander's bank, or Latmus' peak.
But in this nymph, my friend, my fister know:
She draws my arrows, and she bends my bow :
Fair Thames she haunts, and every neighbouring grove,
Sacred to foft recefs, and gentle love.
Go, with thy Cynthia, hurl the pointed fpear
At the rough boar, or chafe the flying deer:
I and my Cloe take a nobler aim:
At human hearts we fling, nor ever miss the game.
'N Heaven, one holy-day, you read
In wife Anacreon, Ganymede
Drew heedlefs Cupid in, to throw
A main, to pafs an hour, or so.
The little Trojan, by the way,
By Hermes taught, play'd all the play.
The god unhappily engag'd,
By nature rafh, by play enrag'd,
Complain'd, and figh'd, and cried and fretted;
Loft every earthly thing he betted:
In ready money, all the ftore
Pick'd up long fince from Danäe's shower;
A fnuff-box, fet with bleeding hearts,
Rubies, all pierc'd with diamond darts;
His nine-pins made of myrtle wood
(The tree in Ida's forest stood);
His bowl pure gold, the very fame
Which Paris gave the Cyprian dame;
Two table-books in fhagreen covers,
Fill'd with good verfe from real lovers;
Merchandise rare! a billet-doux,
Its matter paffionate, yet true;
Heaps of hair-rings, and cypher'd feals
Rich trifles; ferious bagatelles.
What fad diforders play begets!
Desperate and mad, at length he fets
Thofe darts, whose points make gods adore
His might, and deprecate his power:
Thofe 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 fhe found the thing too true.
Guess how the goddefs greets her fon :
Come hither, firrah; no, begone;
And, hark ye, is it fo indeed?
A comrade you for Ganymede ?
An imp as wicked, for his age,
As any earthly lady's page;
A scandal and a fcourge to Troy;
A prince's fon; a black-guard boy;
A sharper, that with box and dice
Draws in young deities to vice.
All Heaven is by the ears together,
Since firft 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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