Venus, redress a wrong thats done
by that yong sprightful boy thy son;
he wounds and then laughs at the sore,
hatred it self could do no more;
if I pursue, he's smal & light, 
both seen at once, and out of sight;
if I do flye, he's wing'd, 
& then at the first step I'm caught again.
Lest one day thou thy selfe may'st suffer so,
or clip the wantons wings, or break his Bow.