The Wounded Cupid. Song

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, replied 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 tell me then, how great’s the smart

Of those, thou woundest with thy Dart!