27
‘Didst think he, whom thou madest passion’s prince,
No privy dart then for himself would poise?
Nay, by the cuckoo on my sceptre, since
’Twas love that made thee mother of his joys,
Art thou the foremost to his favour bound;
As thou shouldst be the last to think to sound
The heart, and least of all thy wanton boy’s.’
28
But her Demeter, on whose stalwart arm