And Thou, unhappy Child, She faid
(Her Anger by her Grief allay'd)
Unhappy Child, who thus haft lost
All the Estate We e'er could boaft;
Whither, O whither wilt Thou run,
Thy Name defpis'd, thy Weakness known?
Nor fhall thy Shrine on Earth be crown'd:
Nor fhall thy Pow'r in Heav'n be own'd;
When Thou, nor Man, nor God can'ft wound.

Obedient CUPID kneeling cry'd,
Ceafe, dearest Mother, ceafe to chide:
GANY's a Cheat, and I'm a Bubble:
Yet why this great Excefs of Trouble?
The Dice were falfe: the Darts are gone:
Yet how are You, or I undone? 1:

The Lofs of These I can fupply
With keener Shafts from CLOE's Eye:
Fear not, We e'er can be difgrac'd,
While That bright Magazine fhall last:
Your crowded Altars ftill fhall smoke;
And Man your Friendly Aid invoke:
JOVE fhall again revere your Pow'r,
And rife a Swan, or fall a Show'r.

CUPID Mistaken.

I.

AS after Noon, one Summer's Day,

VENUS ftood bathing in a River;

CUPID a-fhooting went that Way,

New ftrung his Bow, new fill'd his Quiver.

II.

With Skill 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 cry'd

O cruel, could'st Thou find none other, To wreck thy Spleen on? Parricide!

Like NERO, Thou haft flain thy Mother.

IV.

Poor CUPID fobbing fcarce could speak;
Indeed, Mamma, I did not know Ye:

Alas! how eafie my Mistake?

I took You for your Likeness, CLOB.

W

VENUS

US Miftaken.

I.

HEN CLOE's Picture was to VENUS fhown; Surpriz'd, the Goddess took it for Her own. And what, faid She, does this bold Painter mean? When was I Bathing thus, and Naked feen?

II. Pleas'd

II.

Pleas'd CUPID heard, and check'd His Mother's Pride:
And who's blind now, Mamma? the Urchin cry'd.
'Tis CLOE's Eye, and Cheek, and Lip, and Breast:
Friend How AR D's Genius fancy'd all the rest.

IF

F Wine and Mufick have the Pow'r,
To eafe the Sicknefs of the Soul;
Let PHOEBUS ev'ry String explore;
And BACCHUS fill the fprightly Bowl.
Let Them their friendly Aid imploy,
To make my CLOE's Abfence light;
And feek for Pleasure, to destroy
The Sorrows of this live-long Night.

But She to Morrow will return:
VENUS, be Thou to Morrow great ;
Thy Myrtles ftrow, Thy Odours burn;
And meet Thy Fav'rite Nymph in State.
Kind Goddess, to no other Pow'rs

Let Us to Morrow's Bleffings own:

Thy darling LoVES fhall guide the Hours;
And all the Day be Thine alone.

THE

The

DO VE

Tantæne animis cæleftibus Ira? Virg.

I.

IN

N VIRGIL'S Sacred Verfe we find, That Paffion can depress or raise The Heav'nly, as the Human Mind: Who dare deny what VIRGIL fays?

II.

But if They fhou'd; what our Great Master
Has thus laid down, my Tale fhall prove.

Fair VENUS wept the fad Difafter

Of having loft her Fav'rite DoVE.

III.

In Complaisance poor CUPID mourn'd;
His Grief reliev'd his Mother's Pain;
He vow'd he'd leave no Stone unturn'd,

But She fhou'd have her Dove again.
IV.

Tho' None, faid He, fhall yet be nam'd,
I know the Felon well enough:
But be She not, Mamma, condemn'd
Without a fair and legal Proof.

V.

With that, his longeft Dart he took,

As Conftable wou'd take his Staff:
That Gods defire like Men to look,
Wou'd make ev'n HERACLITUS laugh.

VI. LOVES

VI.

LOVES Subaltern, a Duteous Band,

Like Watchmen round their Chief appear:
Each had his Lanthorn in his Hand:

And VENUS mask'd brought up the Rear
VII.

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.)
VIII.

Late They set out, had far to go:

St. DUNSTAN'S, as They pafs'd, ftruck One.

CLOE, for Reasons good, You know,
Lives at the fober End o'th' Town.

IX.

With one great Peal They rap the Door,
Like Footmen on a Visiting-Day.
Folks at Her House at fuch an Hour!

Lord! what will all the Neighbours fay
X.

The Door is open'd: 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.

XI.

In Bed indeed the Nymph had been
Three Hours: for all Historians fay,

She commonly went up at Ten,
Unless Picquet was in the Way.