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In the Lemnian forge of late
Vulcan making arrows sate,
Whilst with honey their barb'd points
Venus, Love with gall anoints:
Armed Mars by chance comes there,
Brandishing a sturdy spear,
And in scorn the little shaft
Offering to take up, he laugh'd:
"This," saith Love, "which thou dost slight,
Is not (if thou try it) light;"
Up Mars takes it, Venus smil'd;
But he (sighing) to the Child,
"Take it," cries, "its weight I feel;"
"Nay," says Love, "e'en keep it still."