The
DOVE
.
—
Tantæne
animis
coelestibus
Iræ
?
Virg.
I.
In
Virgil's
Sacred
Verse
we
find
,
That
Passion
can
depress
or
raise
The
Heav'nly
,
as
the
Human
Mind
:
Who
dare
deny
what
Virgil
says
?
II
.
But
if
They
shou'd
;
what
our
Great
Master
Has
thus
laid
down
,
my
Tale
shall
prove
.
Fair
Venus
wept
the
sad
Disaster
Of
having
lost
her
Fav'rite
Dove
.
III
.
In
Complaisance
poor
Cupid
mourn'd
;
His
Grief
reliev'd
his
Mother's
Pain
;
He
vow'd
he'd
leave
no
Stone
unturn'd
,
But
She
shou'd
have
her
Dove
again
.
IV
.
Tho'
None
,
said
He
,
shall
yet
be
nam'd
,
I
know
the
Felon
well
enough
:
But
be
She
not
,
Mamma
,
condemn'd
Without
a
fair
and
legal
Proof
.
V.
With
that
,
his
longest
Dart
he
took
,
As
Constable
wou'd
take
his
Staff
:
That
Gods
desire
like
Men
to
look
,
Wou'd
make
ev'n
Heraclitus
laugh
.
VI
.
Loves
Subaltern
,
a
Duteous
Band
,
Like
Watchmen
round
their
Chief
appear
:
Each
had
his
Lanthorn
in
his
Hand
:
And
Venus
mask'd
brought
up
the
Rear
.
VII
.
Accouter'd
thus
,
their
eager
Step
To
Cloe's
Lodging
They
directed
:
(
At
once
I
write
,
alas
!
and
weep
,
That
Cloe
is
of
Theft
suspected
.
)
VIII
.
Late
They
set
out
,
had
far
to
go
:
St.
Dunstan's
,
as
They
pass'd
,
struck
One
.
Cloe
,
for
Reasons
good
,
You
know
,
Lives
at
the
sober
End
o'th'
Town
.
IX
.
With
one
great
Peal
They
rap
the
Door
,
Like
Footmen
on
a
Visiting-Day
.
Folks
at
Her
House
at
such
an
Hour
!
Lord
!
what
will
all
the
Neighbours
say
?
X.
The
Door
is
open'd
:
up
They
run
:
Nor
Prayers
,
nor
Threats
divert
their
Speed
:
Thieves
,
Thieves
!
cries
Susan
;
We're
undone
;
They'll
kill
my
Mistress
in
her
Bed
.
XI
.
In
Bed
indeed
the
Nymph
had
been
Three
Hours
:
for
all
Historians
say
,
She
commonly
went
up
at
Ten
,
Unless
Picquet
was
in
the
Way
.
XII
.
She
wak'd
,
be
sure
,
with
strange
Surprize
.
O
Cupid
,
is
this
Right
or
Law
,
Thus
to
disturb
the
brightest
Eyes
,
That
ever
slept
,
or
ever
saw
?
XIII
.
Have
You
observ'd
a
sitting
Hare
,
List'ning
,
and
fearful
of
the
Storm
Of
Horns
and
Hounds
,
clap
back
her
Ear
,
Afraid
to
keep
,
or
leave
her
Form
?
XIV
.
Or
have
You
mark'd
a
Partridge
quake
,
Viewing
the
tow'ring
Faulcon
nigh
?
She
cuddles
low
behind
the
Brake
:
Nor
wou'd
she
stay
:
nor
dares
she
fly
.
XV.
Then
have
You
seen
the
Beauteous
Maid
;
When
gazing
on
her
Midnight
Foes
,
She
turn'd
each
Way
her
frighted
Head
,
Then
sunk
it
deap
beneath
the
Cloaths
.
XVI
.
Venus
this
while
was
in
the
Chamber
Incognito
:
for
Susan
said
,
It
smelt
so
strong
of
Myrrh
and
Amber
—
And
Susan
is
no
lying
Maid
.
XVII
.
But
since
We
have
no
present
Need
Of
Venus
for
an
Episode
;
With
Cupid
let
us
e'en
proceed
;
And
thus
to
Cloe
spoke
the
God
:
XVIII
.
Hold
up
your
Head
:
hold
up
your
Hand
:
Wou'd
it
were
not
my
Lot
to
show
ye
This
cruel
Writ
,
wherein
you
stand
Indicted
by
the
Name
of
Cloe
:
XIX
.
For
that
by
secret
Malice
stirr'd
,
Or
by
an
emulous
Pride
invited
,
You
have
purloin'd
the
fav'rite
Bird
,
In
which
my
Mother
most
delighted
.
XX
.
Her
blushing
Face
the
lovely
Maid
Rais'd
just
above
the
milk-white
Sheet
.
A
Rose-Tree
in
a
Lilly
Bed
,
Nor
glows
so
red
,
nor
breathes
so
sweet
.
XXI
.
Are
You
not
He
whom
Virgins
fear
,
And
Widows
court
?
Is
not
your
Name
Cupid
?
If
so
,
pray
come
not
near
—
Fair
Maiden
,
I'm
the
very
same
.
XXII
.
Then
what
have
I
,
good
Sir
,
to
say
,
Or
do
with
Her
,
You
call
your
Mother
?
If
I
shou'd
meet
Her
in
my
Way
,
We
hardly
court'sy
to
each
other
.
XXIII
.
Diana
Chaste
,
and
Hebe
Sweet
,
Witness
that
what
I
speak
is
true
:
I
wou'd
not
give
my
Paroquet
For
all
the
Doves
that
ever
flew
.
XXIV
.
Yet
,
to
compose
this
Midnight
Noise
,
Go
freely
search
where-e'er
you
please
:
(
The
Rage
that
rais'd
,
adorn'd
Her
Voice
)
Upon
yon'
Toilet
lie
my
Keys
.
XXV
.
Her
Keys
He
takes
;
her
Doors
unlocks
;
Thro'
Wardrobe
,
and
thro'
Closet
bounces
;
Peeps
into
ev'ry
Chest
and
Box
;
Turns
all
her
Furbeloes
and
Flounces
.
XXVI
.
But
Dove
,
depend
on't
,
finds
He
none
;
So
to
the
Bed
returns
again
:
And
now
the
Maiden
,
bolder
grown
,
Begins
to
treat
Him
with
Disdain
.
XXVII
.
I
marvel
much
,
She
smiling
said
,
Your
Poultry
cannot
yet
be
found
:
Lies
he
in
yonder
Slipper
dead
,
Or
,
may
be
,
in
the
Tea-pot
drown'd
?
XXVIII
.
No
,
Traytor
,
angry
Love
replies
,
He's
hid
somewhere
about
Your
Breast
;
A
Place
,
nor
God
,
nor
Man
denies
,
For
Venus'
Dove
the
proper
Nest
.
XXIX
.
Search
then
,
She
said
,
put
in
your
Hand
,
And
Cynthia
,
dear
Protectress
,
guard
Me
:
As
guilty
I
,
or
free
may
stand
,
Do
Thou
,
or
punish
,
or
reward
Me
.
XXX
.
But
ah
!
what
Maid
to
Love
can
trust
?
He
scorns
,
and
breaks
all
Legal
Power
:
Into
her
Breast
his
Hand
He
thrust
;
And
in
a
Moment
forc'd
it
lower
.
XXXI
O
,
whither
do
those
Fingers
rove
,
Cries
Cloe
,
treacherous
Urchin
,
whither
?
O
Venus
!
I
shall
find
thy
Dove
,
Says
He
;
for
sure
I
touch
his
Feather
.