University of Virginia Library

From the Immortal Seats above,
I Beauty's Goddess, Queen of Love,
Descend to see, if here below
Ye ought of my lost Cupid know:
As on my Lap the other day
The wanton Chitt did sport and play,
(Whether it was Design or Chance)
He let his Golden Arrow glance
On my left side; which done, he fled,
And ever since has rambling stray'd.
I, that am Mother of the Child,
By Nature gentle, soft, and mild,
Come here to seek him, and when found
To give him Pardon for my Wound:
I've search'd my Orb, and that of Jove,
And the wide space where Planets move,
I look'd for him in Mars his Sphere,
(For I had often seen him there)
Above, I've nothing left untry'd
To find where my lov'd Boy do's hide.

Mortals, to you at last I'm come,
To see if Cupid here does roam
In your Abodes, which he oft makes his Home.

Ladies, I know I must despair
To find my Boy amongst the Fair,
For tho' he pleas'd about you flyes,
Basks in the Glances of your Eyes,
Sports in your Hair, and fain wou'd rest
In the soft Lodging of your Breast,
The Child to enter strives in vain
A place that's guarded by Disdain:
With Men I better Fate shall prove
Whose Hearts are open still to Love:
Tell me then, Sirs, I pray now do,
Has my Child hid himself with you?
If any one shall shew me where
To find the Boy, by Styx I swear,
(A sacred Oath,) that he shall have
The sweetest Kiss I ever gave;
But he that brings him to my Arms
Shall Master be of all my Charms;
What greater Promise cou'd I make,
If Love's whole Empire were at Stake?
Do's none reply? perhaps he lyes
Lurking amongst you in disguise,
Has laid aside his Darts and Bow,
That he may pass incognito;
But mark these Signs, and you'll discover
(For all his Tricks) the wily Rover:
Tho' full of Cunning, full of Years,
The Chitt's so little, he appears
An Infant yet, and like a Child
Is froward, restless still, and wild;
He seems to sport himself, and joy
In ev'ry little foolish Toy,
Tho' all the time his fell Intent
On wicked Mischief's wholly bent:
A Trifle angers him, but then
A Trifle pleases him again:
At once there in his Look appears
Joy mixt with Grief, and Smiles with Tears;
His golden Locks in Ringlets wind
Thick on his Front, but bare behind,
As oft we Fortune painted find.
A decent Pride his Air do's grace,
A flushing Red glows o'er his Face,
His sparkling Eyes with Pleasure dance,
And often as it were by chance
Leering, he steals a sideling glance.
From his sweet Lips, when e'er he speaks,
The lisping Accent softly breaks,
And all his Prattle's level'd right
For wanton Dalliance and Delight;
His laughing Mouth do's always smile,
The better to conceal his guile;
As treach'rous Snakes 'midst Flowers play,
The heedless Virgin to betray:
At first Appearance ne'er was seen
A Creature of an humbler Mien,
He softly knocks, or stands at door,
Your kind assistance to implore,
But soon to lord it he'll begin,
If once your Pity lets him in:
He's ne'er at rest, 'till in his hand
You've put the whole and sole Command;
Then all th'old Lodgers are turn'd out
To make room for the looser rout
Of his own Followers, whose sway
Reason itself is forc'd t'obey:
The modest Stranger thus becomes
An open Tyrant, and consumes
Whate'er to thwart his Will presumes.

You've heard the Marks, by which you may
Know and arrest the Runaway:
Sirs, tell me if he here do's stray!
Do's any hope the Boy to hide?
Th'Attempt is vain, tho' often try'd;
For who can think Love to conceal?
Each Look, each Word will Love reveal:
He'll force his way thro' all Disguise,
Break from the Tongue, start from the Eyes,
As the false Adder never to be charm'd
Tears from the Breast in which 'twas hid and warm'd.

But since I cannot find him here,
Before I back to Heav'n repair,
A little farther still I'll seek the Wanderer.