ТНЕ FIRST BOOK O F OVID'S ART OF LOVE. IN Cupid's fchool whoe'er would take degree, Muft learn his rudiments, by reading me. Seamen with failing arts their veffels move; A ftubborn God; but yet the God 's a child : Like fierce Achilles in his pupillage : That hero, born for conquest, trembling ftood With art, and taught his warlike hands to wind The The bull, reclaim'd and yok'd, the burden draws: And ftubborn Love fhall bend beneath my fway, He fhakes his torch, he wounds me with his darts; I boaft no aid the Delphian God affords, Far hence, ye veftals, be, who bind your hair; You, who in Cupid's rolls infcribe your name, Before your youth with marriage is opprest, } The The wary angler, in the winding brook, In common prudence, will not balk the sport. To plunge their poniards in the bridegrooms breaft: Or |