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 cry'd: 
O cruel, could'st thou find none other, 
To wreck 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.