Sonnet LXVII. If Cupid keep his quiver in thine eye

Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)

IF CUPID keep his quiver in thine eye,

And shoot at over-daring gazers’ hearts!

Alas, why be not men afraid! and fly

As from MEDUSA’s, doubting after smarts?

Ah, when he draws his string, none sees his bow!

Nor hears his golden-feathered arrows sing!

Ay me! till it be shot, no man doth know;

Until his heart be prickèd with the sting.

Like semblance bears the musket in the field:

It hits, and kills unseen! till unawares,

To death, the wounded man his body yield.

And thus a peasant, CÆSAR’s glory dares.

This difference left ’twixt MARS his field, and LOVE’s;

That CUPID’s soldier shot, more torture proves!