The Advice of Venus

THUS to the Muses Spoke the Cyprian-Dame;
Adorn my altars, and revere my name.
My Son shall else assume his potent darts.
Twang goes the bow, my Girls, have at your hearts.
The Muses answer'd, — Venus we deride.
The Vagrant's malice, and his Mother's pride.
Send him to Nymphs who sleep on Ida's shade,
To the loose dance, and wanton masquerade :
Our thoughts are setled, and intent our look,
On the instructive verse, and- moral book ;
On female idleness his pow'r relies,
But when he finds us studying hard he flies.