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.