I must confess my acumen is witless
To thwart the hex by which I am possessed,
To which these presents bear conclusive witness
By virtue of to whom they are addressed;
For though my want continues in delighting
To freely roam among the blooming flowers,
My will no longer finds the jaunt exciting,
My passion’s bent usurped by stronger powers;
For Anteros (the Greek) has worked injustice
And filled both she and I with like devotion,
And you alone, dear Cupid, my accomplice,
Can spite his dart and nullify the potion.
The wedding’s at the church beside the river,
Be sure to bring lead-arrows in your quiver!
Imagine, if you will, my situation,
Delivered by Anteros to the altar,
When prompted to assent the consecration
My spell-besotted tongue declined to falter!
Yet in that blessed moment of despair
A-heel of my I do’s reverberation,
Your leaden-arrow sped to my repair
And doused the flame of my infatuation.
Your second shot, dear Cupid, went askew,
And, missing my betrothed, it smote his reverence
Who, when my clarion Not! provoked ado,
Expressed his just approval of our severance:
My Son, he said, the devil has you fair,
But better damned in Hell than wed to her!