University of Virginia Library

To Cupid

Cvpid to Arms, or th'art betraid,
there is a Cold Complexion'd Maid,
That teacheth to ascribe to Thee
a Deity is Heresie;
That thou art made of Wood or Stone,
set up in Fairs, admir'd by none
But Children, who do Idolize
thy Golden Locks, and smoother Thighs;
And at a slender rate may buy
thy Godhead and Artilery.
Cupid lest thou should'st not know her,
these are tokens that will shew her:
Her Beams are such, though blind they say
thou art, thou need'st not grope thy way:
An awfull Brow, a piercing Eye,
presaging Signs of Sovereignty.
Her Language smooth, of weighty Sense,
which seems as fair as her pretence;
Whose specious Beauties do infer,
There is no Sweetnesse but in her.
And this assumes her Virtual Breath
hath pow'r to send us Life or Death:
Which will be credited by all,
and Thou, thy Fame, and Altars fall,
Unless thou dost by force beat down
these rising Evils 'gainst thy Crown,
Arm then thy self, and thou wilt get
by wounding her more Praise than yet
Tradition ere pil'd up for thee;
Be now One, or no Deity.
Pursue the Game, and thou shalt prove
the force of Beauty, I of Love.