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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.
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