3 
Now search’d the Campanula’s silvery cell 
Where he fancied the Fairies might possibly dwell: 
And chasing the Dragon-flies ! beautiful things ! 
Most cruelly dipt many gossamer wings; 
And pilfer’d the down the bright Butterflies wear, 
To powder his pinions and make them as fair! 
Then out of the quiver gold arrows were drawn, 
And the point of each weapon was tipt with a thorn; 
The shafts were well aim’d and they speedily flew 
Where the choicest of Flora’s own favourites grew: 
Till many a beauty was touch’d by the dart, 
And many were wounded with infinite art; 
Whilst others more lovely, more fragrant or gay, 
The Archer most archly, then carried away: 
For the child of the bow loves to pilfer and steal, 
And always endeavours his thefts to conceal. 
The arrows of Cupid thus scatter’d around, 
By Flora, the queen of the garden, were found, 
