A Complaint against Cupid

Venus, redress a wrong thats done

by that yong sprightful boy thy son;

he wounds and then laughs at the sore,

hatred it self could do no more;

if I pursue, he's smal & light,

both seen at once, and out of sight;

if I do flye, he's wing'd,

& then at the first step I'm caught again.

Lest one day thou thy selfe may'st suffer so,

or clip the wantons wings, or break his Bow.