The Bee

As Cupid in a garden strayed,
Transported with the damask shade,
A little bee unseen among
The silken weeds his finger stung.

2

As tears his beauteous cheeks ran down,
He stormed, he blowed the burning wound;
Then flying to a neighboring grove
Thus plaintive told the queen of love:

3

" Ah, ah, mama, ah me, I die!
A little insect, winged to fly —
It's called a bee, on yonder plain
It stung me. Oh! I die with pain. "

4

Then Venus mildly thus rejoined,
" If you, my dear, such anguish find
From the resentment of a bee,
Think what those feel who " r" stung by thee. "
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