'If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me, (835)
From me by strong assault it is bereft. (836)
My honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee, (837)
Have no perfection of my summer left, (838)
But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft:
In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept, (840)
And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee kept.