Cupid, I hate thee, which I'd have thee know; A naked starveling ever may'st thou be. Poor rogue, go pawn thy fascia and thy bow For some few rags wherewith to cover thee. Or, if thou'lt not, thy archery forbear, To some base rustic do thyself prefer, And when corn's sown or grown into the ear, Practise thy quiver and turn crow-keeper. Or, being blind, as fittest for the trade, Go hire thyself some bungling harper's boy; They that are blind are often minstrels made; So may'st thou live, to thy fair mother's joy, That whilst with Mars she holdeth her old way, Thou, her blind son, may'st sit by them and play. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHAMBER MUSIC: 17 by JAMES JOYCE MATE (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: TENNESSEE CLAFLIN SHOPE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DEDICATION FOR A PLOT OF GROUND by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME by ROBERT HERRICK BILL AND JOE by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES |