Ferè simile ex Theocrito
Whilst CUPID had desire to taste the honie sweete,
And thrust his hand into the tree, a bee with him did meete.
The boye no harme did doubt, untill he felt the stinge:
But after to his mother ranne, and ofte his handes did wringe.
And cry'd to her for helpe, and toulde what hap befell:
Howe that a little beast with pricke, did make his finger swell.
Then VENUS smiling say'd, if that a little bee?
Doe hurte so sore: thinke howe thou hurt'st? that art a childe to see.
For where the bee can pierce no further then the skinne:
Thy dartes do give so great a wounde, they pierce the harte within.
Cùm quo convenit aliud ex Anacreonte.
As VENUS sonne within the roses play'd,
An angrie bee that crept therein unseene,
The wanton wagge with poysoned stinge assay'd:
Whereat, aloude he cri'de, throughe smarte, and teene.
And sought about, his mother for to finde:
To whome, with griefe he uttered all his minde.
And say'd, behoulde, a little creature wilde,
Whome husbandmen (I heare) doe call a bee,
Hath prick'd mee sore alas: whereat shee smil'de,
And say'd: my childe, if this be griefe to thee,
Remember then, althoughe thou little arte?
What greevous wounde, thou makest with thy darte.