On a Bee inclos'd in Amber

See this strange Wretch, struck, by this Amber, Dead,
He seems as if in his own Honey lay'd.
As o'er the Banks of Erydane he flew,
And with its Mourning Poplars sorrow'd too.
A fatal drop, loaded with Death, they sent;
So fell the Youth, for whom those Trees Lament.
Thus, since his fall, his Sisters Act it o'er,
With fiercer Light'nings than he felt before.
But he, alone, was beat by Thunder down,
This seems at once the Chariot, and the Sun.
Lost by Feign'd grief the wond'rous Bee appears,
Such weight, such hardness is not found in Tears.
Soon shall this Bead (a grateful gift) be hung,
On some fair Neck, which once it's Venom stung.