CUPID STUNG.

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.”

OLIVERIUS.

New-York, August 5th, 1736.

Cries logical Bob to Ned, if you dare,

A Bet, which has most legs, a mare or no mare,

A mare to be sure, replies Ned with a grin;

And fifty I’ll lay, for I’m certain to win;

Quoth Bob, you have lost, sure as you are alive,

A mare has but four legs, and no mare has five.

The printer’s notice is missing from this Number.

UTILE DULCI.

The New-York Weekly Magazine;

OR, MISCELLANEOUS REPOSITORY.

Vol. II.]

WEDNESDAY, August 17, 1796.

[No. 59.

For the New-York Weekly Magazine.