XII. She wak'd, be fure, with ftrange Surprize. O CUPID, is this Right or Law, Thus to disturb the brighteft Eyes, That ever slept, or ever faw? XIII. Have You obferv'd a fitting Hare, Lift'ning, and fearful of the Storm XIV. Or have You mark'd a Partridge quake, Nor wou'd fhe stay: nor dares fhe fly. Then have You feen the Beauteous Maid; When gazing on her Midnight Foes, Then funk it deap beneath the Cloaths. VENUS this while was in the Chamber Incognito: for SUSAN faid, It smelt fo ftrong of Myrrh and Amber- XVII. But fince We have no prefent Need With CUPID let us e'en proceed; And thus to CLOE fpoke the God: XVIII. Hold XVIII. Hold up your Head: hold up your Hand: For that by fecret Malice ftirr'd, In which my Mother most delighted. Her blufhing Face the lovely Maid Rais'd just above the milk-white Sheet. A Rofe-Tree in a Lilly Bed, Nor glows fo red, nor breathes fo fweet. Are You not He whom Virgins fear, And Widows court? Is not your Name CUPID? If fo, pray come not near Fair Maiden, I'm the very fame. XXII. Then what have I, good Sir, to fay, Or do with Her, You call your Mother? If I fhou'd meet Her in my Way, We hardly court'fy to each other. XXIII. DIANA Chafte, and HEBE Sweet, I wou'd not give my Paroquet For all the DOVES that ever flew. XXIV. Yet XXIV. Yet, to compose this Midnight Noise, XXV. Her Keys He takes; her Doors unlocks; Thro' Wardrobe, and thro' Closet bounces; Peeps into ev'ry Cheft and Box; Turns all her Furbeloes and Flounces. XXVI. But Dov E, depend on't, finds He none; XXVII. I marvel much, She fmiling faid, Your Poultry cannot yet be found: Lies he in yonder Slipper dead, Or, may be, in the Tea-pot drown'd? No, Traytor, angry Love replies, He's hid fomewhere about Your Breaft; A Place, nor God, nor Man denies, For VENUS' DOVE the proper Nest. XXIX. Search then, She faid, put in your Hand, And CYNTHIA, dear Protect refs, guard Me: As guilty I, or free may ftand, Do Thou, or punish, or reward Me XXX. But XXX. But ah! what Maid to Love can trust? O, whither do those Fingers rove, Cries CLOE, treacherous Urchin, whither? O VENUS! I fhall find thy DoVE, Says He; for fure I touch his Feather. A LOVER's ANGER. S CLOE came into the Room t'other Day, I peevish began; Where fo long cou'd You stay? Lord blefs Me! faid She; let a Body but fpeak: MER MERCURY and CUPID. IN fullen Humour one Day Jove Sent HERMES down to IDA's Grove, His Store of Darts, his total Quiver; HERMES, You know, must do his Errand: He found his Man, produc'd his Warrant: CUPID, your Darts-this very HourThere's no contending against Power. How fullen JUPITER, just now I think I faid: and You'll allow, That CUPID was as bad as He: Hear but the Youngster's Repartće. Come Kinfman (faid the little God) He |