Say, Cupid, now what phantom drear
Approaches near,
On whose torn breast
The serpent rears his scaly crest,
Tearing, with venom'd tooth,
The seat of life and truth;
Whilst through the gaping wound black gore,
In sullen tide, is seen to pour.
Thy matted hair,
Thy frantic stare,
Thy green eye fell;
These, jealous fiend, thy name will tell.
See, as the Loves disporting round,
Dance to the rebeck's jocund sound,
With rage inspir'd,
By vengeance fir'd,
Whilst, horror-struck, the Graces gaze;
See madly through the Daedal maze,
As coupled now with writhing pain,
In hurried step he treads the plain;
And, spurning, Love, thy wily song,
Disperses thus thy frighted throng.