Cupid Mistaken

AS after noon, one summer's day,
Venus stood bathing in a river,
Cupid a-shooting went that way,
New strung his bow, new fill'd his quiver.

With skill he chose his sharpest dart,
With all his might his bow he drew ;
Swift to his beauteous parent's heart
The too well-guided arrow flew.

I faint ! I die ! the goddess cried ;
O cruel, couldst thou find none other,
To wrack thy spleen on ? Parricide !
Like Nero, thou hast slain thy mother.

Poor Cupid sobbing scarce could speak;
Indeed, mamma, I did not know ye :
Alas ! how easy my mistake ;
I took you for your likeness, Cloe.