207. The Bag Of The Bee

About the sweet bag of a bee Two Cupids fell at odds; And whose the pretty prize should be They 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.