A Riddle

Kitty, a fair, but frozen maid, Kindled a flame I still deplore; The hood-wink'd boy I call'd in aid, Much of his near approach afraid, So fatal to my suit before.

At length, propitious to my pray'r, The little urchin came; At once he sought the midway air, And soon he clear'd, with dextrous care, The bitter relicks of my flame.

To Kitty, Fanny now succeeds, She kindles slow, but lasting fires; With care my appetite she feeds; Each day some willing victim bleeds, To satisfy my strange desires.

Say, by what title, or what name, Must I this youth address? Cupid and he are not the same, Tho' both can raise, or quench a flame— I'll kiss you, if you guess.