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IN fullen humour one day Jove
Sent Hermes down to Ida's grove,
Commanding Cupid to deliver
His store of darts, his total quiver ;
That Hermes should the weapons, break,
Or throw them into Lethe's lake.
Hermes, you know, must do his errand : He found his man, produc'd his warrant : Cupid ! your darts this very hour There's no contending against power!
How sullen Jupiter, just now, I think I said ; and
'll allow, That Cupid was as bad as he : Hear but the youngster's repartee.
Come, kinsman (said the little god),
Put off your wings, lay by your rod;
Retire with me to yonder bower ;
And rest yourself for half an hour :
'Tis far indeed from hence to Heaven;
But you fly fast: and 'tis but seven.
We 'll take one cooling cup of nectar;
And drink to this celestial Hector.
He break my darts! or hurt my power !
He, Leda's swan, and Danaë’shower!
Go, bid him his wise tongue restrain ;
And mind his thunder, and his rain.-
My darts ! O certainly I 'll give 'em :
From Cloe's eyes he shall receive 'em.
There's one, the best in all my quiver,
Twang! through his very heart and liver ;
He then shall pine, and figh, and rave :
Good Lord ! what bufle shall we have !
Neptune must strait be fent to fea;
And Flora summon’d twice a day :
One must find fhells, and other flowers,
For cooling grots, and fragrant bowers,
That Cloe may be ferv'd in ftate :
The Hours must at her toilet wait :
Whilst all the reasoning fools below
Wonder their warches go too flow.
Lybs must fly south, and Eurus eaft,
For jewels for her hair and breast.
No matter, though their cruel hafte
Sink cities, and lay forefts waste.
No matter, though this fleet be loft ;
Or that lie wind-bound on the coaft.
What whispering in my mother's ear!
What care, that Juno should not hear !
What work among you fcholar gods !
Phæbus must write him amorous odes.
And thou, poor coufin, must compose
His letters in fubmiffive profe :
Whilst haughty Cloe, to sustain
The honour of my mystic reign,
Shall all his gifts and vows disdain ;
And laugh at your old bully's pain.
Dear couz, said Hermes in a fright,
For Heaven's sake! keep your darts : good night.
ESOLVE me, Cloe, what is this :
Or forfeit me one precious kiss.
"Tis the firft offspring of the Graces ;
Bears different forms in different places ;
Acknowledg'd fine, where'er beheld;
Yet fancied finer, when conceal’d.
'Twas Flora's wealth, and Circe's charm;
Pandora's box of good and harm :
'Twas Mars's wish, Endymion's dream;
Apelles' draught, and Ovid's theme.
This guided Thefeus through the maze;
And sent him home with life and praise :
But this undid the Phrygian boy;
And blew the flames that ruin'd Troy.
This thew'd great kindnefs to old Greece,
And help'd rich Jason to the fleece.
This through the Eaft juft vengeance hurld,
And lost poor Anthony the world.
Injur’d, though Lucrece found her doom,
This banish'd tyranny from Rome.
Appeas'd, though Lais gain'd her hire ;
This set Persepolis on fire.
For this Alcides learn'd to spin :
His club laid down, and lion's skin.
For this Apollo deign'd to keep,
. With servile care, a mortal's sheep.
For this the father of the Gods,
Content to leave his high abodes,
In borrow'd figures loosely ran,
Europa's bull, and Leda's swan,
For this he reassumes the nod
(While Semele commands the God);
Launces the bolt, and shakes the poles ;
Though Momus laughs, and Juno scolds,
Here listening Cloe (mild, and said ;
Your riddle is not hard to read :
I guess it-Fair-one, if you do ;
Need I, alas! the theme pursue ?
For this, thou see'st, for this I leave,
Whate'er the world thinks wise or grave,
Ambition, business, friendship, news,
My useful books, and serious Muse.
For this, I willingly decline
The mirth of feasts, and joys of wine ;
And chuse to fit and talk with thee
(As thy great orders may decree)
Of cocks and bulls, and Autes and fiddles,
Of idle tales, and foolish riddles,
WHAT Nymph should I admire, or trust,
But Cloe beauteous, Cloe just :
What Nymph should I desire to fee,
But her who leaves the plain for me?
To whom should I compose the lay,
But her who listens when I play?
To whom in song repeat my cares,
But her who in my sorrow shares ?
For whom should I the garland make,
But her who joys the gift to take,
And boasts she wears it for
fake? In love am I not fully blest ? Lisetta, prythce tell the rest.
URE Cloe just, and Cloe fair,
Deserves to be your only care :
But, when you and the to-day
Far into the wood did stray,
And I happen'd to pass by ;
But, when your cares to her you sing,
Yet dare not tell her whence they spring;