Shut, shut the door! good John, quick turn the lock,
And shield thy master from their syren charms.
If sober Wisdom hither deigns to roam,
Nor let her in, nor send her quite away;
Tell her at present I am not at home,
But hope she’ll call again some other day.
If at my door a beauteous boy be seen,
Whose little feet have oft my threshold trod;
Thou know’st the offspring of the Cyprian queen,
His air, without his bow, bespeak the god.