THE FIRST BOOK O F OVID'S ART OF LOVE. IN Cupid's fchool whoe'er would take degree, A ftubborn God; but yet the God 's a child : Like fierce Achilles in his pupillage : That hero, born for conqueft, trembling stood With art, and taught his warlike hands to wind And fimooth the rugged breasts of human-kind. " Yet Cupid and Achilles each with fcorn And rage were fill'd; and both were goddess-born. The The bull, reclaim'd and yok'd, the burden draws And ftubborn Love fhall bend beneath my fway, Though ftruggling oft he strives to disobey. He fhakes his torch, he wounds me with his darts; The more he burns my foul, or wounds my fight, I boaft no aid the Delphian God affords, As Hefiod faw them on the fhady green : You, who in Cupid's rolls inscribe your name, Before your youth with marriage is oppreft, } She must be fought for with a curious eye. The The wary angler, in the winding brook, In common prudence, will not balk the sport Of Or Venus' temple; where, on annual nights, The theatres are berries for the fair: Το |