Late in the Forrest I did
Cupid
see
Cold, wett, and crying, he had lost his way,
And being blinde was farther like to stray;
Which sight, a kind compassion bred in me.
I kindly tooke, and dry'd him, while that he,
(Poore Child) complain'd, he sterved was with stay
And pin'd for want of his accustom'd prey,
For none in that wilde place his Host would be.
I glad was of his finding, thinking sure,
This service should my freedome still procure,
And in my armes I tooke him then unharm'd,
Carrying him safe unto a Myrtle bowre,
But in the way he made me, feele his powre,
Burning my heart, who had him kindly warm'd.