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!

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