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 filled 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, couldst thou find none other
To wreak 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.”
Matthew Prior.