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Cupids Call.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


1

Cupids Call.

Ho! Cupid calls, come Lovers, come,
Bring his wanton Harvest home:
The West-wind blowes, the Birds do sing,
The Earth's enamell'd, 'tis high Spring:
Let Hinds whose soul is Corn and Hay,
Expect their crop another day.
Into Loves Spring-garden walk,
Virgins dangle on their stalk,
Full blown, and playing at fifteen:
Come bring your amorous sickles then?
See they are pointing to their beds,
And call to reap their Maiden-heads.

2

Hark, how in yonder shadie grove
Sweet Philomel is warbling love,
And with her voice is courting Kings,
For since she was a Bird, she sings,
There is no pleasure but in men,
Oh come and ravish me agen.
Virgins that are yong and fair
May kisse, and grow into a pair;
Then warm and active use your blood,
No sad thought congeal the flood:
Nature no med'cine can impart
When age once snows upon our heart.