  AS after noon, one summer’s day, Venus stood bathing in a river; Cupid a-shooting went that way, New strung his bow, new fill’d his quiver. With skill he chose his sharpest dart: With all his might his bow he drew: Swift to his beauteous parent’s heart The too-well-guided arrow flew. “I faint! I die!” the goddess cried: “O cruel, could’st thou find none other To wreak thy spleen on: Parricide! Like Nero, thou hast slain thy mother.” Poor Cupid, sobbing, scarce could speak; “Indeed, mama, I did not know ye: Alas! how easy my mistake? I took you for your likeness, Chloe.” Matthew Prior. |
|
