Samuel Lover

Love and Death

A Fable From Æsop — Versified and De-Versified:


Cupid, one day, was surprised in a shower of rain,
   (He's a delicate fellow);
So, for shelter, he ran to a shadowy grotto hard by,
   For he had no umbrella.
He thought he might rest while the storm was in action, so he
   Lapp'd one wing o'er his head,
The other he folded so nicely beneath him, and slept
   On his own feather bed.
 Oh Cupid! you stupid, what were you about
   To lie down in that cave?—
   'Twas as good as a grave—
 As he soon found out.


For the arch where the Archer reposed was the cavern of Death,
   Who had stol'n out, unknown,
To unfasten the portals of life with his skeleton keys,
   In St. Mary-le-bone.
Soon he returned, and Love, waking, to see the grim king
   With terror did shiver,
And, in a hurry arising, his arrows he dropt
   In a quake from his quiver.
 Oh Cupid! you stupid, 'twas silly to fly;
   Death could not hurt you:—
   For love, when 'tis true,
 It never can die!


Now the arrows of Death were all lying about on the ground,
   And with Cupid's did mix,
And, ever since, Cupid and Death are unconsciously playing
   Most unlucky tricks;
For Love, having gather'd some arrows of Death with his own,
   Sometimes makes a hit
At the "gallery of beauty," but finds that his mistaken shaft
   Drives some belle to "the pit."
 Oh! Cupid, you stupid, why spoil thus your quiver,
   And send to the heart
   Some poisonous dart,
 That was meant for the liver?


And Death, as unconsciously shooting Love's arrows around,
   To bring down the old ones,
Sees grandads and dowagers wondrously warm'd into love,
   That he meant to be cold ones.
Oh! mischievous medley of Love and of Death:—which is worse—
   ('T is a question perplexing;—)
To be too young to die, or be too old to love?—both perverse,
   Are confoundedly vexing.
 Oh Cupid!—how sadly grotesque is the view
   Of white gloves and favours
   To Death, for his labours,
 And hat-bands to you!