Cupid's courtesy: OR, The young Gallant foiled at his own Weapon.  
He scorned Cupid and his Dart,  
Until he felt a wounded Heart.  By J. P. 
To a pleasant Northern Tune.  
 
 

THough the cool shady Woods, as I was ranging,  
I heard the pretty Birds notes sweetly changing;  
Down by a Meadow side, there runs a River,  
A little Boy I espied with Bow and Quiver.   

Little Boy, tell me why thou art here diving,  
Art thou some runaway, and hast no biding?  
I am no runaway, Venus my mother,  
She gave me leave to play when I came hither.   

Little Boy go with me, and be my Servant  
I will take care to set for thy preferment;  
If I with thee should go, Venus would chide me,  
And take away my Bow, and never abide me.   

Little Boy let me know, what's thy name termed,  
That thou dost wear a Bow, and go so armed,  
You may perceive the same, with often changing,  
Cupid it is my name, I live by ranging.   

If Cupid be thy name, that shoots at Rovers,  
I have heard of thy fame, by wounded Lovers:  
Should any languish that are set on fire,  
By such a naked Brat, I much admire.   
 

IF thou dost but the least, at my Laws grumble,  
I'll pierce thy stubborn breast and make thee humble;  
If I with golden Dart, wound thee but surely,  
There's no physician's art, that e'er can cure thee.   

Little Boy with thy Bow, why dost thou threaten?  
It is not long ago since thou was beaten:  
Thy wanton Mother fair, Venus will chide thee,  
When all thy Arrows are gone, thou mayest go hide thee.   

Of powerful shafts you see, I am well stored,  
Which makes my deity, so much adored:  
With one poor Arrow now, I'll make thee shiver,  
And bend unto my Bow, and fear my Quiver.   

Dear little Cupid be courteous and kindly,  
I know thou canst not hit but shootest blindly.  
Although thou calls me blind, surely i'll hit thee,  
That thou shalt quickly find, I'll not forget thee.   

Then little Cupid caught his Bow so nimble,  
And shot a fatal Shaft which made him tremble:  
Go tell thy Mistress dear, thou canst discover,  
What all the Passions are, of a dying Lover.   

And now this gallant heart, sorely was bleeding,  
And felt the greatest smart from Love proceeding:  
He did her help implore, whom he affected,  
But found that more and more, him she rejected.   

For Cupid with his craft quickly had chosen,  
And with a leaden shaft, her heart had frozen,  
Which caused this Lover, more sadly to languish,  
And Cupid's aid implore, to heal his anguish.   

He humble pardon craved for his offence past,  
And vowed himself a slave, and to Love steadfast;  
His prayers so ardent were, whilst his heart panted,  
That Cupid lent an ear, and his suit granted.   

For by his present plaint, he was regarded,  
And his adored Saint, his Love rewarded:  
And now they live in joy, sweetly imbraceing,  
And left the little Boy in the Woods chasing.   
FINIS.   

Licenced and entered according to Order.   

London, Printed for F. Coles, in winestreet, near Hatten Garden.