I, Whose Pretty Voice You Hear

I, whose pretty Voice you hear,
Lady (you will think it queer),
Have a Mother, once a Statue,
I, thus boldly looking at you,
Do the name of Paphus bear,
Fam’d Pygmalion’s Son and Heir,
By that wondrous marble wife
That from Venus took her life.
Cupid’s Nephew then am I,
Nor unskill’d his darts to ply;
But from Him I crav’d no warrant,
Coming thus to seek my Parent;
Not equipp’d with bow and quiver
Her by menace to deliver,
But resolv’d with filial care
Her captivity to share.
Hence, while on your toilet, She
Is doom’d a Pincushion to be,
By her side I’ll take my place,
As a humble Needle-case;
Furnish’d too with dainty thread,
For a Sempstress thorough-bred.
Then let both be kindly treated,
Till the Term, for which She’s fated
Durance to sustain, be over;
So will I ensure a Lover
Lady! to your heart’s content;
But on harshness are you bent
Bitterly shall you repent,
When to Cyprus back I go
And take up my Uncle’s bow.

Composed, and in part transcribed, for Fanny Barlow, by her

RYDAL MOUNT,