Raised on a bank, where daisies grew, And violets intermix'd a blue, She finds the boy she went to find; A thousand pleasures wait behind, Aside a thousand arrows lie, But all, unfeather'd, wait to fly.
When they met, the dame and boy, Dancing graces, idle joy, 20 Wanton smiles, and airy play, Conspired to make the scene be gay; Love pair'd the birds through all the grove, And Nature bid them sing to Love, Sitting, hopping, fluttering sing, And pay their tribute from the wing, To fledge the shafts that idly lie, And, yet unfeather'd, wait to fly.
'Tis thus, when Spring renews the blood, They meet in every trembling wood, 30 And thrice they make the plumes agree, And every dart they mount with three, And every dart can boast a kind, Which suits each proper turn of mind.
From the towering eagle's plume The generous hearts accept their doom; Shot by the peacock's painted eye The vain and airy lovers die: For careful dames and frugal men, The shafts are speckled by the hen: 40 The pies and parrots deck the darts, When prattling wins the panting hearts: When from the voice the passions spring, The warbling finch affords a wing: Together, by the sparrow stung, Down fall the wanton and the young: And fledged by geese the weapons fly, When others love they know not why.
All this (as late I chanced to rove) I learn'd in yonder waving grove. 50 And see, says Love, who call'd me near, How much I deal with Nature here; How both support a proper part, She gives the feather, I the dart: Then cease for souls averse to sigh, If Nature cross ye, so do I; My weapon there unfeather'd flies, And shakes and shuffles through the skies. But if the mutual charms I find By which she links you, mind to mind, 60 They wing my shafts, I poise the darts, And strike from both, through both your hearts.
1 Gay Bacchus liking Estcourt's[1] wine, A noble meal bespoke us; And for the guests that were to dine, Brought Comus, Love, and Jocus.
2 The god near Cupid drew his chair, Near Comus, Jocus placed; For wine makes Love forget its care, And Mirth exalts a feast.
3 The more to please the sprightly god, Each sweet engaging Grace Put on some clothes to come abroad, And took a waiter's place.
4 Then Cupid named at every glass A lady of the sky; While Bacchus swore he'd drink the lass, And did it bumper-high.