Why was Cupid a boy, And why a boy was he? He should have been a girl, For aught that I can see. For he shoots with his bow, And the girl shoots with her eye; And they both are merry and glad, And laugh when we do cry. Then to make Cupid a boy Was surely a woman’s plan, For a boy never learns so much Till he has become a man: And then he’s so pierced with cares, And wounded with arrowy smarts, That the whole business of his life Is to pick out the heads of the darts. WILLIAM BLAKE. [Illustration] CUPID’S LOTTERY A Lottery, a Lottery, In Cupid’s Court there used to be; Two roguish eyes The highest prize In Cupid’s scheming Lottery; And kisses, too, As good as new, Which weren’t very hard to win, For he who won The eyes of fun Was sure to have the kisses in. A Lottery, a Lottery, etc. This Lottery, this Lottery In Cupid’s court went merrily, And Cupid played A Jewish trade In this his scheming Lottery; For hearts, we’re told, In _shares_ he sold To many a fond believing drone, And cut the hearts In sixteen parts So well, each thought the whole his own, A Lottery, a Lottery, etc. THOMAS MOORE. CUPID’S CURSE My love is fair, my love is gay, As fresh as are the flowers in May; And of my love the roundelay, My merry, merry roundelay, Concludes with Cupid’s curse: They that do change old love for new, Pray gods they change for worse! My love can pipe, my love can sing, My love can many a pretty thing, And of his lovely praises ring My merry, merry roundelays. Amen to Cupid’s curse! They that do change old love for new, Pray gods they change for worse! GEORGE PEELE. [Illustration: LOVE’S FLITTING] When Love is coming, coming, Meet him with songs and joy, Bid him alight and enter, Flatter and feast the boy; Crown him with gems and roses, Charm him with winning wiles, Bind him with lovely garlands, And kisses, and smiles. When Love is going, going, Leaving you all alone, Craving, the fickle tyrant, Some newer slave and throne, Hinder him not, but quickly, Even though your heart may bleed, Saddle a horse for his journey, And bid him God-speed! ELIZABETH AKERS. [Illustration: LOVE’S TYRANNY] Love’s tyranny now wherefore should I praise, Not being enamoured of my altered plight! I often sigh who once sang roundelays; I know the sleepless gnomes that haunt the night. I turn with feverish jealousy to hear Words that were spoken when I was not near.