Late in the Forest I did Cupid See
   Colde, wet, and crying he had lost his way,
   And being blind was farther like to stray:
   Which sight a kind compassion bred in me,

I kindly took, and dried him, while that he
   Poor child complain'd he starved was with stay,
   And pined for want of his accustom'd play,
   For none in that wild place his host would be,

I glad was of his finding, thinking sure
   This service should my freedom still procure,
   And in my arms I took him then unharmed,

Carrying him safe unto a myrtle bower
   But in the way he made me feel his power,
   Burning my heart who had him kindly warmed.

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