Classic Poem

At Venus' entreaty for Cupid her son,
These arrows by Vulcan were cunningly done.
The first is Love, as here you may behold,
His feathers, head, and body, are of gold:
The second shaft is Hate, a foe to love,
And bitter are his torments for to prove:
The third is Hope, from whence our comfort springs;
His feathers [they] are pull'd from Fortune's wings:
Fourth Jealousy in basest minds doth dwell;
His metal Vulcan's Cyclops sent from hell.