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A Gentleman in Love with two Ladies.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


19

A Gentleman in Love with two Ladies.

If Love his arrowes shoot so fast,
Soon his feather'd stock will waste,
But I mistake in thinking so:
Loves arrowes in his quiver grow;
And it appears too true in me,
Cupid wants no Artillery,
Two shafts feed upon my brest,
Make it a mark for all the rest:
Kill me with love, thou angry Sun
Of Citherea, or let one,
But one sharp golden Arrow flie,
To wound that heart for whom I die.
Cupid if thou bee'st a child,
Be no god, or be more mild.