207. The Bag of the Bee
About the sweet bag of a beeTwo Cupids fell at odds;And whose the pretty prize should beThey vow’d to ask the Gods.
Which Venus hearing, thither came,And for their boldness stript them;And taking thence from each his flame,With rods of myrtle whipt them.
Which done, to still their wanton cries,When quiet grown she’d seen them,She kiss’d and wiped their dove-like eyes,And gave the bag between them.
208. THE PRESENT; OR, THE BAG OF THE BEE:
Fly to my mistress, pretty pilfering bee,And say thou bring’st this honey-bag from me;When on her lip thou hast thy sweet dew placed,Mark if her tongue but slyly steal a taste;If so, we live; if not, with mournful hum,Toll forth my death; next, to my burial come.