Examen poeticum being the third part of miscellany poems containing variety of new translations of the ancient poets, together with many original copies by the most eminent hands.

MOSCHUS: IDYL 1st. Done into ENGLISH

BY Mr. J. R.

HER Son not heard of, and by none descry'd, In a shrill voice thus pensive Venus cry'd. He who can News of a stray Cupid tell, My Run-a-way, shall be rewarded well. His Fee for the obliging News is this, He may come hither, and demand a Kiss. But if he can the Vagabond restore; He shall have Kisses, and have somewhat more. Amongst a Hundred you the Boy may know, Large are his Tokens, and his Marks enow.

Not white his body, but resembling Flame; His Eyes all cruel, and his Heart the same: Soft are his words, where he designs no Love, Nor do his Heart and Tongue together move. Sweet is his Voice as Honey when he's pleas'd, But when enrag'd, how hard to be appeas'd! He always lies: 'tis a pernicious Boy, Fraud is his Sport, and Tyranny his Joy. Bold are his Eyes, divinely curl'd his Hair; Small are his Hands, but oh! they kill from far! How great, how large is their extensive Pow'r, From which great Pluto's self is not secure! Close are his Thoughts and Soul, his Body bare: Swift as a Bird, he strikes an amorous Pair, Invades the inmost Fortress of the Fair. Small is his Bow, nor are his Arrows great, And yet ev'n These have reach'd the Heav'nly Seat.

A Golden Quiver on his back he ties, Where his Artillery in dreadful order lies. All cruel, all—but oh! the cruel Boy Does with his Taper Phoebus self annoy; Torments ev'n me, his Mother, ruins all my Joy. Charge him from me, if seen, with an arrest; Let pity be a Stranger to your breast. If you can seize him, lead the Captive bound, Let no compassion for his tears be found. Avoid his kisses, and his amorous wiles, There's worse than Poison in his treacherous smiles. Nay, shou'd he offer you his arms, beware, Of Arrows tipt with Fire have a care.