About the sweet bag of a bee
Two cupids fell at odds,
And whose the pretty prize should be
They vowed to ask the gods.
Which Venus hearing, thither came,
And for their boldness stripped them,
And, taking thence from each his flame,
With rods of myrtle whipped them.
Which done, to still their wanton cries,
When quiet grown she'd seen them,
She kissed, and wiped their dove-like eyes,
And gave the bag between them.
