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Home  »  library  »  poem  »  Cupid Mistaken

C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Cupid Mistaken

By Matthew Prior (1664–1721)

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 wreck 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 Chloe.