O, feckless dart of immeasurable delight!
Wouldst thou direct elsewhere your flight,
And refute my rival’s gentleman claim,
That he be immune to Cupid’s aim.
His smug sobriety remains intact,
His pages blithe and matter-of-fact,
Where my poor pen is inked with woe,
And ****** to hell by quiver and bow.
O, mischievous boy do grant my request!
Whether modest maid or comely *****,
His downfall ensured by one bold kiss,
Shoot low, shoot high, but do not miss.
‘“Oh, did you expect me to play fair?” Cupid laughed. “I am the god of love. I am never fair.”’
- Rick Riordan, The House of Hades