Anacreon :: :: University of Virginia Library

Her lost son Cupid careful Venus cried;
If any in the streets Love wandring spied,
He is my runaway, to Venus come
And have a kisse; but he that brings him home
Not a meer kisse shall have but further Joyes;
Hee's easie to be known from twenty Boyes;
Fiery, not white is his Complexion; Eyes
Sparkling; fair words his treacherous thoughts disguise.
His Lips and Heart dissent; like Honey sweet
His tongue, in's minde malice and anger meet:
A crafty lying Boy, mischief his play,
Curl'd headed, knavish-look'd; no little way
His hand, though little, can an arrow throw;
To Hell he shoots, and wounds the Powers below.
His body he disrobes, his minde he covers,
And like a swift bird up and down he hovers
From Man to Woman, pearching on the heart:
A little Bow he hath, a little Dart,
Whose nimble flight can pierce the highest sphears,
A golden Quiver at his back he bears,

And poison'd Shafts, with which he doth not spare
Ev'n Me to wound: All cruel, cruel are;
But most his little Torch, which fires the Sun;
Take, bring him bound, nor be to pitty won;
Let not his tears thy easinesse beguile,
Nor let him circumvent thee with a smile;
If he to kisse thee ask, his kisses fly;
Poyson of Asps between his lips doth ly:
If to resigne his weapons he desire,
Touch not, his treacherous Gifts are dipt in fire.