Anacreon's Third Ode, Otherwise

Cupid abroad, was lated in the night;
His wings were wet with ranging in the rain:
Harbour he sought, to me he took his flight,
To dry his plumes: I heard the boy complain;
I oped the door, and granted his desire;
I rose myself, and made the wag a fire.

Prying more narrow by the fire's flame,
I spied his quiver hanging at his back:
Doubting the boy might my misfortune frame,
I would have gone for fear of further wrack;
But what I fear'd, did me, poor wretch, betide,
For forth he drew an arrow from his side.

He pierced the quick, and I began to start;
A pleasing wound, but that it was too high:
His shaft procured a sharp, yet sugared smart;
Away he flew, for now his wings were dry;
But left the arrow sticking in my breast,
That sore I grieve I welcomed such a guest.