Cupid, one sultry summer’s noon, tired with play and faint with heat, went into a cool grotto to repose himself. This happened to be the cave of Death. He threw himself carelessly down upon the floor, and his quiver turning upside down, all the arrows fell out and mingled with those of Death, which lay scattered about the place. When he awoke he gathered them up as well as he could; but they were so intermingled that although he knew the proper number to take, he could not rightly distinguish his own. Hence he took up some of the arrows which belonged to Death, and left some of his. This is the reason why that we now and then see the hearts of the old and decrepit transfixed with the bolts of Love; and with great grief and surprise sometimes see youth and beauty smitten with the darts of Death.
Moral: Death and Love strike unexpectedly.
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