LOVE’s Goddess in a myrtle grove,
Said, Cupid, bend thy bow with speed,
Nor let the shaft at random rove,
For Jeany’s haughty heart must bleed.
The smiling boy, with divine art,
From Paphos shot an arrow keen,
Which flew, unerring, to the heart,
And kill’d the pride of bony Jean.
No more the Nymph, with hạughty air,
Refuses Willy’s kind address;
Her yielding blushes shew no care,
But too much fondness to suppress.
No more the youth is sullen now,
But looks the gayest on the green;
Whilst every day he spys some new
Surprising charms in bony Jean.
A thousand transports crowd his breast,
He moves as light as fleeting wind,
His former sorrows seem a jest,
Now when his Jeany is turn’d kind:
Riches he looks on with disdain,
The glorious fields of war look mean;
The chearful hound and horn give pain,
If absent from his bony Jean.
The day he spends in am’rous gaze,
Which even in summer shortn’d seems;
When sunk in downs, with glad amaze,
He wonders at her in his dreams,
All charms disclos’d, she looks more bright
Than Troy’s prize, the Spartan Queen,
With breaking day, he lifts his Sight,
And pants to be with bony Jean.