The warning

List to me, ye gentle fair:

Cupid oft in ambush lies,

Of the urchin have a care,

Lest he take you by surprise.

He with trifles will inflame

The hearts of us poor silly maids,

And oft-times he takes his aim

From shoulder knots and smart cockades.

Oft his darts the heart assail

From a pair of brilliant eyes;

Never were they known to fail,

Wet with tears or borne on sighs.

Beauteous too he seems to be,

Sweet as roses in the morn;

But beneath these beauties he,

Like the rose, conceals a thorn.

List to me, ye gentle fair:

Cupid oft in ambush lies,

Of the urchin have a care,

Lest he take you by surprise.