O Cupid, Cupid; Get Your Bow!

Arming down along the stream, Along the sparkling water, And past the pool where lilies gleam, There comes the squatter’s daughter. Her eyes are kind; her lips are warm; And like a flower her face is; The habit shows her bonny form As graceful as a Grace’s. O I’ll be mad of love, I know; My head she’ll surely addle; O Cupid, Cupid; get your bow; And shoot her from the saddle! For, like a bird on breezes waft, She quickly, quickly passes; O Cupid, Cupid, draw your shaft; And bring her to the grasses! O she is worthy game for you; And there is none to match her. So, Cupid, send your arrow true; And I’ll be there to catch her!