Classic Poem

Rest thee, desire, gaze not at such a star;
Sweet fancy, sleep; love, take a nap awhile;
My busy thoughts that reach and roam so far,
With pleasant dreams the length of time beguile;
Fair Venus, cool my over-heated breast,
And let my fancy take her wonted rest.

Cupid abroad was lated in the night,
His wings were wet with ranging in the rain;
Harbour he sought, to me he took his flight,
To dry his plumes: I heard the boy complain;
My door I op'd, to grant him his desire,
And rose myself to make the wag a fire.

Looking more narrow by the fire's flame,
I spied his quiver hanging at his back:
I fear'd the child might my misfortune frame,
I would have gone for fear of further wrack;
And what I drad, poor man, did me betide,
For forth he drew an arrow from his side.

He pierc'd the quick, that I began to start;
The wound was sweet, but that it was too high,
And yet the pleasure had a pleasing smart:
This done, he flies away, his wings were dry;
But left his arrow still within my breast,
That now I grieve I welcom'd such a guest.