Cupid Mistaken

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 cried;

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, Chloe.”