SONG.
[Fame of Dorinda's Conquests brought]
I
Fame of Dorinda's Conquests brought
The God of Love her Charms to view;
To wound th'unwary Maid he thought,
But soon became her Conquest too.
II
He dropp'd half drawn his feeble Bow,
He look'd, he rav'd, and sighing pin'd;
And wish'd in vain he had been now,
As Painters falslly draw him blind.
III
Disarm'd, he to his Mother flies;
Help, Venus, help thy wretched Son!
Who now will pay Us Sacrifice?
For Love Himself's, alas! undone.
IV
To Cupid now no Lover's Pray'r
Shall be address'd in suppliant Sighs;
My Darts are gone, but oh beware,
Fond Mortals, of Dorinda's Eyes.