SONG
.
I
As
Cupid
wanton
,
giddy
child
,
Was
rambling
throw
the
shade
,
To
mischief
prown
,
the
urchin
wild
,
Beheld
a
sleeping
maid
.
But
how
to
wound
her
gentle
breast
,
A
quick
suggestion
rose
,
When
ev'ry
sense
was
lull'd
to
rest
,
In
peaceful
,
calm
repose
.
II
He
chang'd
his
figure
in
a
trice
,
To
Strephon's
,
blith
and
young
,
Then
gently
tapt
her
elbow
thrice
,
And
thus
divinely
sung
.
"
Ah
beauteous
maid
no
longer
scorn
,
"
A
generous
,
constant
swain
,
"
My
breast
with
anxious
pangs
is
torn
,
"
I
pine
with
ceaseless
pain
.
III
"
Be
gone
she
cried
,
and
henceforth
know
,
"
Such
boldness
ne'er
could
move
,
"
A
breast
to
mean
deceit
a
foe
,
"
Yet
ah
!
a
friend
to
love
.
"
The
youth
who
aims
to
gain
my
heart
,
"
Must
prove
his
constancy
,
"
Confess'd
a
foe
,
to
every
art
,
"
From
vice
,
and
folly
free
.
IV
A
quiver
then
the
urchin
drew
,
Well
stor'd
with
pointed
darts
,
And
cry'd
"
fair
nymph
in
me
you
view
,
"
The
sov'reign
of
all
hearts
.
"
To
try
your
truth
I
only
came
,
"
Your
gentle
breast
to
move
,
"
Thou
,
goddess
,
henceforth
I
proclaim
,
"
Of
virtue
,
and
of
love
.