Cupid wanton rogue they say,
Inclin’d to rob a hive one day;
Thrust his hand into the swarm,
Thoughtless little thief of harm;
When vext to be insulted so,
A bee sprung out upon her foe;
Around his fist a thousand clung,
And faith the wag was soundly stung.
He shook his hand, he leap’d, he cried,
And all in tears to Venus hied;
Ask’d how a bee, so small a thing!
Could lodge to terrible a sting?
Venus replied, “How like my child,
Are these fell bees to you?” and smil’d;
“Tho’ small your size, sharp is your dart,
And keenly does it wound the heart.”