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The Wounded Cupid

 Cupid as he lay among
Roses, by a Bee was stung.
Whereupon in anger flying To his Mother, said thus crying; Help! O help! your Boy's a dying.
And why, my pretty Lad, said she? Then blubbering, replyed he, A winged Snake has bitten me, Which Country people call a Bee.
At which she smil'd; then with her hairs And kisses drying up his tears: Alas! said she, my Wag! if this Such a pernicious torment is: Come, tel me then, how great's the smart Of those, thou woundest with thy Dart!

Poem by Robert Herrick
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