My Scorn to Cupid, or Cupid ungodded.
A God! some jugling Gypsies Brat
that silly People wonder at,
Whose faiths thou hast abus'd with lies,
And fortune-telling fopperies▪
No more assume the title God
that fitter art to have the Rod:
But use thy Quiver and thy Bow,
to kill Iack-Daws, or fright the Crow,
Nor boast thy Parentage or Power
th'ast lost thy Godhead in one hour.
Henceforth in scorn thy Figure shall,
be plac'd on ev'ry Potters Stall.
Or on the Tester of some Bed;
thy Altar be some Cup-boards head,
No fumes of Sacrifice shall rise,
less from the Mists of Childrens eys;
When in their Play they Ruine Thee,
and thou the Sacrificed be.
No, No, thou shalt abuse no more
our Faiths, with thy huge Deeds of Yore,
Fame lies to prate so much of thee,
could'st thou so great a Conquerour be,
Or'e Gods themselves, and now want'st wir,
sufficient Power, and Strength to hit