Classic Poem

As Cupid , from his Cruel Sport,
Return'd, to Grace his Mother's Court,
In Triumph leading Bleeding Hearts,
Throbbing with Love, transfix'd with Darts;
Himself untouch'd! the Hunter stray'd
Into a Cooling, Myrtle Shade,
And saw a Lonely, Lovely Maid.

No sooner did young Master spy
The Virgin's soft, refulgent Eye,
Than did his Opening Breast receive
A Wound, like Those, He, often, gave;
And, down his Arms and Hearts He threw,
And languishing, full, in her View,
'Tis done! He said, See! Mars , see! Jove ,
See! all ye Gods; See Cupid's Love!

To Venus when, at last, he came,
Without his Tackle, or his Game;
Without his Bow, without a Dart;
Without his own, or any Heart;
The Goddess cry'd, Alas! My Son,
Where hast thou been? What hast thou done?
He sigh'd and answer'd, with a Groan,
She stole my Hearts , she stole my Own .

The matchless Beauties of her Face;
The Wonders that her Person grace;
The Charm, in all she does, or says;
Her killing Smiles, her winning Ways;
Her Wit, her Coyness, All agree,
A Spight of Fate , to vanquish me.

Less angry Venus at her Son,
Than to find Herself out-done,
Cry'd, Who's the Nymph that, thus, prevails?
Ah, Dear Mamma , 'Tis Fanny Hales .