45. Upon Cupid
Love, like a gipsy, lately came,And did me much importuneTo see my hand, that by the sameHe might foretell my fortune.
He saw my palm; and then, said he,I tell thee, by this score here,That thou, within few months, shalt beThe youthful Prince D’Amour here.
I smiled, and bade him once more prove,And by some cross-line show it,That I could ne’er be Prince of Love,Though here the Princely Poet.