From Citheron the warlike boy is fled

From Citheron the warlike boy is fled

And smiling sits upon a Virgin's lap,

Thereby to train poor misers to the trap,

Whom Beauty draws with fancy to be fed:

And when Desire with eager looks is led,

Then from her eyes

The arrow flies,

Feather'd with flame, arm'd with a golden head.

There careless thoughts are freed of that flame

Wherewith her thralls are scorched to the heart:

If Love would so, would God the enchanting dart

Might once return and burn from whence it came!

Not to deface of Beauty's work the frame,

But by rebound

It might be found

What secret smart I suffer by the same.

If Love be just, then just is my desire;

And if unjust, why is he call'd a God?

O God, O God, O Just! reserve thy rod

To chasten those that from thy laws retire!

But choose aright (good Love! I thee require)

The golden head,

Not that of lead!

Her heart is frost and must dissolve by fire.