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 thе enchanting dart
Might once return and burn from whеnce 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