A
TALE
.
To
CHLORINDA
.
By
the
Same
.
DAME
Venus
,
a
daughter
of
Jove's
,
And
amongst
all
his
daughters
most
fair
,
Lost
,
it
seems
,
t'
other
day
the
two
doves
,
That
wafted
her
car
thro'
the
air
.
The
dame
made
a
heavy
sad
rout
,
Ran
about
heav'n
and
earth
to
condole
'em
;
And
sought
high
and
low
to
find
out
,
Where
the
biddyes
were
stray'd
,
or
who
stole
'em
.
To
the
God
,
who
the
stragglers
shou'd
meet
,
She
promis'd
most
tempting
fine
pay
,
Six
kisses
than
honey
more
sweet
,
And
a
seventh
far
sweeter
than
they
.
The
proposal
no
sooner
was
made
,
But
it
put
all
the
Gods
in
a
flame
;
For
who
would
not
give
all
he
had
To
be
kiss'd
by
so
dainty
a
dame
?
To
Cyprus
,
to
Paphos
they
run
,
Where
the
Goddess
oft
us'd
to
retire
;
Some
rode
round
the
world
with
the
sun
,
And
search'd
every
country
and
shire
.
But
with
all
their
hard
running
and
riding
,
Not
a
God
of
'em
claim'd
the
reward
;
For
no
one
could
tell
tale
or
tiding
,
If
the
doves
were
alive
or
were
starv'd
.
At
last
the
sly
shooter
of
men
Young
Cupid
,
(
I
beg
the
God's
pardon
)
Mamma
,
your
blue
birds
I
have
seen
In
a
certain
terrestrial
garden
.
Where
,
where
,
my
dear
child
,
quickly
shew
,
Quoth
the
dame
,
almost
out
of
her
wits
:
Do
but
go
to
Chlorinda's
,
says
Cu
,
And
you'll
find
'em
in
shape
of
pewits
.
Is
it
she
that
hath
done
me
this
wrong
?
Full
well
I
know
her
,
and
her
arts
;
She
has
follow'd
the
thieving
trade
long
,
But
I
thought
she
dealt
only
in
hearts
.
I
shall
soon
make
her
know
,
so
I
shall
—
And
with
that
to
Jove's
palace
she
run
,
And
began
like
a
bedlam
to
bawl
,
I
am
cheated
,
I'm
robb'd
,
I'm
undone
.
Chlorinda
,
whom
none
can
approach
Without
losing
his
heart
or
his
senses
,
Has
stol'n
the
two
doves
from
my
coach
,
And
now
flaunts
it
at
Venus'
expences
.
She
has
chang'd
the
poor
things
to
pewits
,
And
keeps
'em
like
ord'nary
fowls
:
So
when
she
robs
men
of
their
wits
,
She
turns
'em
to
asses
or
owls
.
I
cou'd
tell
you
of
many
a
hundred
Of
figure
,
high
station
,
and
means
,
Whom
she
without
mercy
has
plunder'd
,
Ever
since
she
came
into
her
teens
.
But
her
thefts
upon
earth
I'd
have
borne
,
Or
have
let
'em
all
pass
for
mere
fable
;
But
nothing
will
now
serve
her
turn
,
But
the
doves
out
of
Venus's
stable
.
Is
it
fit
,
let
your
mighty
ship
say
,
That
I
,
like
some
pitiful
flirt
,
Shou'd
tarry
within
doors
all
day
,
Or
else
trudge
it
afoot
in
the
dirt
?
Is
it
fit
that
a
mortal
shou'd
trample
On
me
,
who
am
styl'd
queen
of
beauty
?
O
make
her
,
great
Jove
,
an
example
,
And
teach
Nimble-fingers
her
duty
.
Sir
Jove
when
he
heard
her
thus
rage
,
For
all
his
great
gravity
,
smil'd
;
And
then
,
like
a
judge
wise
and
sage
,
He
began
in
terms
sober
and
mild
.
Learn
,
daughter
,
to
bridle
your
tongue
,
Forbear
to
traduce
with
your
prattle
The
fair
,
who
has
done
you
no
wrong
,
And
scorns
to
purloin
goods
and
chattel
.
She
needs
neither
gewgaw
nor
trinket
,
To
carry
the
world
all
before
her
;
Her
deserts
,
I
wou'd
have
you
to
think
it
,
Are
enough
to
make
all
men
adore
her
.
Your
doves
are
elop'd
,
I
confess
,
And
chuse
with
Chlorinda
to
dwell
;
But
blame
not
the
lady
for
this
;
For
sure
'tis
no
crime
to
excel
.
As
for
them
,
I
applaud
their
high
aims
;
Having
serv'd
from
the
time
of
their
birth
The
fairest
of
heavenly
dames
,
They
would
now
serve
the
fairest
on
earth
.