Classic Poem

Venus Redress a wrong that's done
By that young spightfull Boy, thy Son,
He wounds, and then Laughs at the sore,
Hatred it self can do no more.
If I pursue, Hee's Small, and Light,
Both seen at once, and out of sight:
If I do flie, Hee's Wing'd, and then,
At the third step, I'm caught agen:
Lest one day thou thy self mayst suffer so,
Or clip the Wantons Wings, or break his Bow.