To a Lady Archer

Two Goddesses, not always friends,
Are friends alike to you:
To you her bow for trial lends
The statelier of the two.
"Let Cupid have it," Venus cries,
Diana says "No! no!
Until your Cupid grows more wise
He shall not have my bow."
Her boy was sitting at her side,
His bow across his knee.
"Use thou thy own, use this," she cried:
"I did, in vain! " cried he.
" Mother! we may as well be gone;
No shaft of mine can strike
That figure there, so like thy own,
That heart there, so unlike.