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Poem	As after noon, one summer's day, Venus stood bathing in a river; Cupid a-shooting went that way, New strung his bow, new fill'd his quiver. With skill he chose his sharpest dart: With all his might his bow he drew: Swift to his beauteous parent's heart The too well-guided arrow flew. I faint! I die! the Goddess cry'd: O cruel, could'st thou find none other, To wreck thy spleen on? Parricide! Like Nero, thou hast slain thy mother. Poor Cupid sobbing scarce could speak; Indeed, Mamma, I did not know ye: Alas! how easy my mistake? I took you for your likeness, Cloe.
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