Enter Cupid, Folly, Madness: the Host joins with them in a dance. Song
Though little be the god of love,
Yet his arrows mighty are,
And his victories above
What the valiant reach by war.
Nor are his limits with the sky;
O'er the milky way he'll fly
And sometimes wound a deity.
Apollo once the Python slew,
But a keener arrow flew
From Daphne's eye, and made a wound
For which the god no balsam found.
One smile of Venus, too, did more
On Mars than armies could before.
If a warm fit thus pull him down,
How will she ague-shake him with a frown.
Thus Love can fiery spirits tame,
And, when he please, cold rocks inflame.
Yet his arrows mighty are,
And his victories above
What the valiant reach by war.
Nor are his limits with the sky;
O'er the milky way he'll fly
And sometimes wound a deity.
Apollo once the Python slew,
But a keener arrow flew
From Daphne's eye, and made a wound
For which the god no balsam found.
One smile of Venus, too, did more
On Mars than armies could before.
If a warm fit thus pull him down,
How will she ague-shake him with a frown.
Thus Love can fiery spirits tame,
And, when he please, cold rocks inflame.
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