When Celia, love's eternal foe,
To rich old Gomez first was married;
And angry Cupid came to know
His shafts had err'd, his bow miscarried;
He sigh'd, he wept, he hung his head,
On the cold ground, full sad, he laid him;
When Plutus, there by fortune led,
In this desponding plight survey'd him.
"And sure," he cried, "you'll own at last
Your boasted power by mine exceeded:
Say, wretched boy, now all is past,
How little she your efforts heeded.
"If with success you would assail,
Gild, youngster, doubly gild your arrows:
Little the feather'd shafts avail,
Though wing'd from mamma's doves and sparrows.
"What though each reed, each arrow grew,
Where Venus bathed herself; depend on't,
'Twere more for use, for beauty too,
A diamond sparkled at the end on't."
"Peace, Plutus, peace!"