Love in a shower of blossoms came
Down, and half drown'd me with the same :
The blooms that fell were white and red ;
But with such sweets comminglèd,
As whether, this, I cannot tell
My sight was pleas'd more, or my smell :
But true it was, as I roll'd there,
Without a thought of hurt or fear,
Love turn'd himself into a bee,
And with his javelin wounded me :
From which mishap this use I make;
Where most sweets are, there lies a snake,
Kisses and favours are sweet things ;
But those have thorns and these have stings.