The Works of John Hall-Stevenson ... Corrected and Enlarged. With Several Original Poems, Now First Printed, and Explanatory Notes. In Three Volumes |
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 | II. |
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 | The Works of John Hall-Stevenson |  |
217
THE NEW FABLE OF THE BEES:
IN TWO CANTOS.
HIS QUIDAM SIGNIS, ATQUE HÆC EXEMPLA SECUTI, ESSE APIBUS PARTEM DIVINÆ MENTIS, ET HAUSTUS ÆTHEREOS DIXERE: DEUM NAMQUE IRE PER OMNES TERRASQUE, TRACTUSQUE MARIS, CÆLUMQUE PROFUNDUM.
Virg. Georg. L. IV.
218
CANTO I.
THE ARGUMENT.
A preliminary discourse—The origin of police—The divine right of kings asserted upon new principles, more suitable to the goodness of God and good sense than the old principles that are taught at Oxford—The nature of courts—The court of Heaven—The court of requests—Angels—Ministers—The bee-piper—A speech—A prayer—A curse, in which all good people are desired to join—The conclusion.
219
I never yet beheld that man,
(With all the temper that you please)
That started fair, and fairly ran
Through the old fable of the bees:
Because the verse the author chose,
If verse, like ours, be verse indeed,
Was made to introduce the prose,
But never meant to take the lead;
Whereas it should be the reverse,
The prose should be the 'squire, or usher,
To grace and wait upon the verse,
Not a competitor or pusher.
Verse ill-conducted or misplac'd,
Meets with cold treatment and distaste;
Much like a sermon, or discourse,
With which you have been tir'd and vex'd;
Neither begot in a right course
Upon the body of a text,
Made nor created, but proceeding,
Incomprehensibly from reading.
Through a variety of matter,
And learned dirt, you splash and walk,
Both for impertinence and chatter,
Like his own lady's table-talk:
But a good parson hates to poach;
All his delight is in fair sporting,
No harlot-text will he approach,
But first to scripture goes a courting:
A text by wooing he obtains,
He takes her in a proper trim,
And so begets with proper pains
A sermon sound in wind and limb.
It is a spurious production
Begot in any other shape;
Either the offspring of seduction,
Or lawless issue of a rape.
All kinds of governments that are,
That of an emperor or king,
Or of a queen like that of fairies,
Nay, even down to my lord-mayor,
Or, what's exactly the same thing,
Down even to my lady mayoress.
Accordingly the wits of Greece,
And idle poets of all nations,
Have studied bees for the police
Of kingdoms, states, and corporations:
That there are queens that rule the bees,
Has been a point agreed long since:
The learned say e'en lice and fleas
Are govern'd by a sovereign prince;
Through microscopes they plainly trace,
In vermin that escape the sight,
Monarchy and a royal race;
Nature in Kings takes such delight;
A fact that leads by steps direct,
Farther, perhaps, than you suspect;
That monarchs are of right divine
Is evidently prov'd from hence;
For Filmer's patriarchal line
Proves nothing but his want of sense:
This proves, to every apprehension,
What none but wicked Whigs condemn,
That monarchy is God's invention,
Far too ingenious for them:
But then 'twill follow full as plain,
That, as they're kings by God appointed,
All kings by the same patent reign;
Sovereigns equally anointed;
For the Creator of all creatures
Is neither fond of shape nor size,
Nor loves queen Bessy's eyes and features
More than a Spider's face and eyes;
Equally Source and God of all,
All kings are equal in his sight,
Whether the monarch's great or small,
Whether a Brunswick or a mite.
When treason spawns and traitors work,
God will weigh both in equal scales,
Whether a desperate Damien lurk
Within a rotten cheese, or at Versailles.
Kings, therefore, by God's charter reign,
Monarchy seems to be a plan,
Contriv'd to punish and restrain
Licentious insects and vain man.
Wherever there are kings and queens
There must be plenty of intrigues;
Variety of ways and means,
Enmities, jealousies, and leagues;
Both courts and Heaven, as David sings,
In waiting, place their chief ambition,
To see God's face, the queen's or king's,
Both call the Beatific Vision:
If heaven be a happier place,
There are no sexes thereabout,
No ministers but those of grace;
For all the devils are turn'd out.
Ladies, I own, one must be spiteful,
Bad as a Turk, worse than a Jew,
To think that Heaven could be delightful,
If Heaven had no place for you:
Heaven's harmony, as fools report,
Would be quite drown'd in female noise:
Heaven is not shut, like the Pope's court,
To all but priests, eunuchs and boys.
Yes, there are ladies in those bowers,
Ladies that once were made like ours;
But then they level all distinction,
Before they enter into bliss;
Each sex must suffer an extinction,
They neither marry there nor p---ss.
Our courts are the reverse of Heaven's,
In everlasting change delighting;
Always at sixes and at sevens,
Intriguing, catterwauling, fighting:
Here we abound in nought but sin,
Here peace and rest were never known;
Here all the devils are kept in,
All that have any grace are flown.
Within a hive a wand'ring drone,
Of an uncommon size and mien,
Stole by, unnotic'd, near the throne,
And struck the fancy of the queen:
When once a royal fancy's struck,
The striker never leaves it short,
Not only strikes, pushing his luck,
But kicks the proudest of the court:
'Tis not a mighty pleasant thing,
Nor much in favour of the many,
Who, though allow'd to wear a sting,
Are kick'd by creatures without any:
He kick'd them up and down by dozens,
But that which cut them to the quick,
He sent for all his dirty cozens,
And gave them liberty to kick.
Gentle or simple 'twas the same,
Once they began, all was fair game.
A humble Bee , once much in vogue,
Who in an instant could inflame;
Or, when enrag'd, the demagogue
Could make an apiary tame:
In an assembly held apart,
Display'd the wonders of his art;
First he deplor'd their present state,
Then he amus'd them with a hum,
Then he grew noisy and elate,
And rais'd their spirits like a drum:
Drummers and orators by noise,
By drumming and by elocution,
Often inspire both men and boys
With eagerness and resolution.
When their drum's brac'd, if they have skill,
They move their audience as they will.
Just so, by varying his notes,
And adding action to the tone,
He could have made them cut the throats
Both of the courtiers and the drone.
For Humble Bees to grandeur climb
By oratory humbuzzonic,
Like the great speakers of our time,
By rhetoric stentorophonic;
My dearest countrymen, said he,
Far be it from me to despise
A Drone for being not a Bee,
I hate him for not being wise;
When there's no wisdom in a guide,
When once the guide loses his way,
Whether we walk, or sail, or ride,
'Tis ten to one we go astray.
Horrid and desperatious case,
Big with terrificable woe,
If any Bees within this place
Are willingly Bee-wilder'd so,
Such Bees I heartily renounce,
However dignify'd and styled;
Such Bees must be, I do pronounce,
Bee-fooled, Bee-sotted, and Bee-guiled.
What wickedness is left undone?
What folly has not been committed?
You are not only over-run,
By stupid drones you are out-witted:
Our colonies do they not bleed?
Are not our brothers scorn'd and slighted,
Except our brethren from the Tweed,
With us mellifluously united?
Is not the cause of this well known?
You all of you know what I mean,
You know the bagpipe of the drone
Fascinates our gracious queen.
What flesh alive can bear his scheamers,
And their abominable schemes?
Or, who can listen to his dreamers,
And his interpreters of dreams?
One of his Tools try'd to be funny,
Talk'd of his savings and his sparings,
Attempted to seize all your honey,
And make you live on apple-parings;
A Drone (perdition catch his soul!)
Full of pretensions and vain-glory;
So very like a certain mole,
I cannot help telling the story :
“With intellects by nature muddy,
A Mole kept moiling under ground,
Liv'd, like Duns Scotus, in his study,
And got the name of the profound:
At last by labouring and boring
Amongst the blind and the Bee-nighted;
And, by continually poring,
He was accounted second-sighted:
His mother, a discreet old dame,
Knew well the genius of the youth;
She was not such a dupe to Fame,
To take all her reports for truth;
She left her house, she came, in short,
To judge herself of the report:
Mother, said he, by all that's bright,
I saw you tripping o'er the plain;
What a fine thing is second-sight!
'Tis the perfection of the brain.
I knew you, mother, well enough,
I heard your step an hour ago,
And smelt the fragrance of your ruff,
As I was studying below.
That you, says she, were always blind,
Was not a point that wanted clearing,
But now, alas, I also find,
You've neither feeling, smell, nor hearing,
Therefore, to keep your reputation,
Lock yourself up, my learned son,
Avoid all kind of conversation;
If you converse, you are undone.
Such is this Treasurer of yours,
Who should be sent, might I advise,
To banishment, far from our flowers,
And live on excrements with flies:
There let him, without interruption,
As a reward for his invention,
Grow sleek and wanton with corruption;
Let him enjoy a stinking pension.”
(With all the temper that you please)
That started fair, and fairly ran
Through the old fable of the bees:
Because the verse the author chose,
If verse, like ours, be verse indeed,
Was made to introduce the prose,
But never meant to take the lead;
Whereas it should be the reverse,
The prose should be the 'squire, or usher,
To grace and wait upon the verse,
Not a competitor or pusher.
Verse ill-conducted or misplac'd,
Meets with cold treatment and distaste;
Much like a sermon, or discourse,
With which you have been tir'd and vex'd;
220
Upon the body of a text,
Made nor created, but proceeding,
Incomprehensibly from reading.
Through a variety of matter,
And learned dirt, you splash and walk,
Both for impertinence and chatter,
Like his own lady's table-talk:
But a good parson hates to poach;
All his delight is in fair sporting,
No harlot-text will he approach,
But first to scripture goes a courting:
A text by wooing he obtains,
He takes her in a proper trim,
And so begets with proper pains
A sermon sound in wind and limb.
It is a spurious production
Begot in any other shape;
Either the offspring of seduction,
Or lawless issue of a rape.
All kinds of governments that are,
That of an emperor or king,
221
Nay, even down to my lord-mayor,
Or, what's exactly the same thing,
Down even to my lady mayoress.
Accordingly the wits of Greece,
And idle poets of all nations,
Have studied bees for the police
Of kingdoms, states, and corporations:
That there are queens that rule the bees,
Has been a point agreed long since:
The learned say e'en lice and fleas
Are govern'd by a sovereign prince;
Through microscopes they plainly trace,
In vermin that escape the sight,
Monarchy and a royal race;
Nature in Kings takes such delight;
A fact that leads by steps direct,
Farther, perhaps, than you suspect;
That monarchs are of right divine
Is evidently prov'd from hence;
For Filmer's patriarchal line
Proves nothing but his want of sense:
222
What none but wicked Whigs condemn,
That monarchy is God's invention,
Far too ingenious for them:
But then 'twill follow full as plain,
That, as they're kings by God appointed,
All kings by the same patent reign;
Sovereigns equally anointed;
For the Creator of all creatures
Is neither fond of shape nor size,
Nor loves queen Bessy's eyes and features
More than a Spider's face and eyes;
Equally Source and God of all,
All kings are equal in his sight,
Whether the monarch's great or small,
Whether a Brunswick or a mite.
When treason spawns and traitors work,
God will weigh both in equal scales,
Whether a desperate Damien lurk
Within a rotten cheese, or at Versailles.
Kings, therefore, by God's charter reign,
Monarchy seems to be a plan,
223
Licentious insects and vain man.
Wherever there are kings and queens
There must be plenty of intrigues;
Variety of ways and means,
Enmities, jealousies, and leagues;
Both courts and Heaven, as David sings,
In waiting, place their chief ambition,
To see God's face, the queen's or king's,
Both call the Beatific Vision:
If heaven be a happier place,
There are no sexes thereabout,
No ministers but those of grace;
For all the devils are turn'd out.
Ladies, I own, one must be spiteful,
Bad as a Turk, worse than a Jew,
To think that Heaven could be delightful,
If Heaven had no place for you:
Heaven's harmony, as fools report,
Would be quite drown'd in female noise:
Heaven is not shut, like the Pope's court,
To all but priests, eunuchs and boys.
224
Ladies that once were made like ours;
But then they level all distinction,
Before they enter into bliss;
Each sex must suffer an extinction,
They neither marry there nor p---ss.
Our courts are the reverse of Heaven's,
In everlasting change delighting;
Always at sixes and at sevens,
Intriguing, catterwauling, fighting:
Here we abound in nought but sin,
Here peace and rest were never known;
Here all the devils are kept in,
All that have any grace are flown.
Within a hive a wand'ring drone,
Of an uncommon size and mien,
Stole by, unnotic'd, near the throne,
And struck the fancy of the queen:
When once a royal fancy's struck,
The striker never leaves it short,
Not only strikes, pushing his luck,
But kicks the proudest of the court:
225
Nor much in favour of the many,
Who, though allow'd to wear a sting,
Are kick'd by creatures without any:
He kick'd them up and down by dozens,
But that which cut them to the quick,
He sent for all his dirty cozens,
And gave them liberty to kick.
Gentle or simple 'twas the same,
Once they began, all was fair game.
A humble Bee , once much in vogue,
Who in an instant could inflame;
Or, when enrag'd, the demagogue
Could make an apiary tame:
In an assembly held apart,
Display'd the wonders of his art;
First he deplor'd their present state,
Then he amus'd them with a hum,
Then he grew noisy and elate,
And rais'd their spirits like a drum:
226
By drumming and by elocution,
Often inspire both men and boys
With eagerness and resolution.
When their drum's brac'd, if they have skill,
They move their audience as they will.
Just so, by varying his notes,
And adding action to the tone,
He could have made them cut the throats
Both of the courtiers and the drone.
For Humble Bees to grandeur climb
By oratory humbuzzonic,
Like the great speakers of our time,
By rhetoric stentorophonic;
My dearest countrymen, said he,
Far be it from me to despise
A Drone for being not a Bee,
I hate him for not being wise;
When there's no wisdom in a guide,
When once the guide loses his way,
Whether we walk, or sail, or ride,
'Tis ten to one we go astray.
227
Big with terrificable woe,
If any Bees within this place
Are willingly Bee-wilder'd so,
Such Bees I heartily renounce,
However dignify'd and styled;
Such Bees must be, I do pronounce,
Bee-fooled, Bee-sotted, and Bee-guiled.
What wickedness is left undone?
What folly has not been committed?
You are not only over-run,
By stupid drones you are out-witted:
Our colonies do they not bleed?
Are not our brothers scorn'd and slighted,
Except our brethren from the Tweed,
With us mellifluously united?
Is not the cause of this well known?
You all of you know what I mean,
You know the bagpipe of the drone
Fascinates our gracious queen.
What flesh alive can bear his scheamers,
And their abominable schemes?
228
And his interpreters of dreams?
One of his Tools try'd to be funny,
Talk'd of his savings and his sparings,
Attempted to seize all your honey,
And make you live on apple-parings;
A Drone (perdition catch his soul!)
Full of pretensions and vain-glory;
So very like a certain mole,
I cannot help telling the story :
“With intellects by nature muddy,
A Mole kept moiling under ground,
Liv'd, like Duns Scotus, in his study,
And got the name of the profound:
At last by labouring and boring
Amongst the blind and the Bee-nighted;
And, by continually poring,
He was accounted second-sighted:
229
Knew well the genius of the youth;
She was not such a dupe to Fame,
To take all her reports for truth;
She left her house, she came, in short,
To judge herself of the report:
Mother, said he, by all that's bright,
I saw you tripping o'er the plain;
What a fine thing is second-sight!
'Tis the perfection of the brain.
I knew you, mother, well enough,
I heard your step an hour ago,
And smelt the fragrance of your ruff,
As I was studying below.
That you, says she, were always blind,
Was not a point that wanted clearing,
But now, alas, I also find,
You've neither feeling, smell, nor hearing,
Therefore, to keep your reputation,
Lock yourself up, my learned son,
230
If you converse, you are undone.
Such is this Treasurer of yours,
Who should be sent, might I advise,
To banishment, far from our flowers,
And live on excrements with flies:
There let him, without interruption,
As a reward for his invention,
Grow sleek and wanton with corruption;
Let him enjoy a stinking pension.”
Just gods! your kind assistance lend;
Watch and protect the royal comb!
Confound his instrument, and send
The Piper to his native home:
Dismiss his mercenary Drones,
Expose them to contempt and laughter,
And finally break all their bones,
If they attempt to enter after.
Whilst he was speaking all was quiet,
But perorating in that fashion,
They rose up like a Polish Diet,
And drew their sabres in a passion.
Had he been there in that confusion,
They were so heated with this actor,
He had not 'scap'd for a contusion,
Nor even for a simple fracture.
Watch and protect the royal comb!
Confound his instrument, and send
The Piper to his native home:
Dismiss his mercenary Drones,
Expose them to contempt and laughter,
And finally break all their bones,
If they attempt to enter after.
231
But perorating in that fashion,
They rose up like a Polish Diet,
And drew their sabres in a passion.
Had he been there in that confusion,
They were so heated with this actor,
He had not 'scap'd for a contusion,
Nor even for a simple fracture.
233
CANTO II.
THE ARGUMENT.
The great Humming Bee delineated-A list of orators—An exceeding fine speech-Tories, why called-Conclusion-Moral.
235
Their stings they brandish'd for a while,
Till growing cooler by degrees,
An Humble Bee , with an arch smile,
Answer'd the speech of Pericles ;
Pericles means, 'tis a Greek name,
A Bee of an exalted fame.
'Twas not a common hackney tit,
No, nor Bambalio with his clangor,
Nor Taratantara , whose wit
Is quite as harmless as his anger;
Nor he whose balmy words run off,
No words run smoother or distincter,
So oily, they would cure a cough,
As soon as Hill's Balsamic Tincture;
Nor the Bee-swain , a Bee as rare,
All cloath'd in sattin and in silk,
With speech and face both soft and fair,
Like poultices of bread and milk;
Nor Boreas , like a rumbling car,
Nor Bumbo , who must ever speak ill,
Whose eloquence resembles tar,
Much more than honey or even treacle,
Though he is sometimes called Molosses ,
Which signifies the scum of sugar,
So saith the druggerman Colossus ,
Who sold his master hugger-mugger;
This Humble Bee, far from a ranter,
Could not endure a noise and clatter,
His fort was sly socratic banter,
As to his name 'tis no great matter;
Said he , the honourable Humble
Is plac'd so high in our esteem,
That if he chance to slip and tumble,
I shall believe it is a dream.
And yet I wish he would take the trouble,
To shew his conduct in each point;
Right when 'tis simple, better double,
Most natural when out of joint.
I do not mean, I am not so blind,
So ignorant a ninny-hammer,
That Pericles should be confin'd
To rules of conduct or of grammar;
I only wish that he would shew
His right, by purchase or donation,
To all the faith we can bestow,
As well as all our admiration.
'Twould cut at once the Gordian knot,
And reconcile each contradiction,
Tergiversation be forgot,
Duplicity and dereliction.
In the mean time, on all occasions,
Till he complies with these conditions,
I must consider his orations
Only as human compositions.
Till he has clear'd this point before him,
Though I admire I can't adore him.
Why are the bagpipes such a sin?
Or why in him alone a crime?
Pericles try'd them out and in,
But he could never play in time;
And try'd, when it was all lost labour,
To rival him with pipe and tabour:
Nay, in the porches of her ear,
Like Hamlet's uncle with a phial,
When he could get the queen to hear,
Pour'd the base notes of his bass-viol.
He said, indeed, that all his playing
Was meant to disenchant the queen ;
But does he say what he is saying,
Like people that say what they mean?
So far from that, there's not a citling,
That makes excursions in the summer;
There's not a single shallow witling,
That does not take him for a hummer:
Therefore I earnestly beseech,
In the behalf of this poor nation,
That you will not regard his speech,
More than his life and conversation.
His arguments prove, more or less,
However furbelow'd or dress'd;
'Tis not so much for our distress,
As for himself, that he's distress'd.
His arguments are truly curious,
He hates him not for his ambition,
Nor as a drone, but he is furious,
Because he is the queen's musician:
He hates his tunes, he hates his ways,
And hates the pipe on which he plays:
But if a bagpipe be essential
To every drone both great and small,
If Pericles be consequential,
Then Pericles must hate them all.
For 'tis recorded in old stories,
How Drones and Tories got their name;
Pipes were call'd Drones, and Pipers Tories,
Now Drone and Tory mean the same.
His compliment to Drones, I take it,
Is not impenetrably deep,
There are some Tory heads awake yet,
That he would rather lull to sleep.
To dream of honey, milk, and wine,
For Tory dreams are always fine;
As children in their nurses lap,
Or rock'd in cradles sweetly lying,
Are happier dreaming of their pap,
Than when they're 'broad awake and crying.
Now take your balance, and compare
His speeches with his life and dealings,
Or else you may, without such care,
Take fine professions for fine feelings:
In early youth he lost his place,
He was a Trumpeter or Cornet ,
For spitting in the fav'rite's face,
And calling him an ugly hornet.
An old coquette amongst the wasps,
Whilst Pericles was fresh and young,
Whose sting and poison, like the asps,
Lay chiefly in her head and tongue,
Long after he was sent down stairs,
Seduc'd him with her harlot airs;
In the wasp cause he appeared hearty,
Assum'd their language and their form,
Vow'd to renounce the whole Bee-party,
And take her majesty by storm:
But when his passion was abated,
He veer'd about without much pain;
When love or avarice were sated,
He turn'd a loyal Bee again:
Ador'd the queen, humour'd the people
In all their fancies and requests;
Made the bells ring in every steeple,
And drove their foes from all their nests.
But ah! th' inconstancy of Bees!
Roving and changing every hour!
Wafted about by every breeze,
Allur'd by every specious flower;
For now, because the queen has pitch'd
Upon the Piper to amuse her,
Pericles swears she is bewitch'd ,
And sets his mob on to abuse her:
This sure is jealousy and spleen,
Not like true love and genuine duty;
For if, like me, he lov'd the Queen,
He could not injure such a beauty:
Yet, to do justice to his merits,
He always lov'd the Queen, I know;
It is the fever on his spirits
Makes him forget what subjects owe.
As Pericles has shewn the way,
Let me too introduce my tale ;
In a debate, before to-day,
I have known a fable turn the scale.
A Lion with a wand'ring gout,
Upon his couch, or bed, lay roaring;
The courtiers all stood round about,
Every god and aid imploring.
Excruciated like a martyr,
The doctors brought a thousand slops;
To pave the way for his departure,
They pour'd them down the Lion's chops
Of all the courtiers that attended,
Waiting about him in a ring,
The Wolf officiously pretended,
To sympathize most with the King:
Whilst we are all in such a fright,
Sir, said the Wolf, it must appear,
Neither convenient nor right,
That your attorney is not here;
My friend, the Fox, is much to blame,
Now that your Majesty's so ill,
To roam about killing your game,
When you may want to make your will.
At his return the Fox was told
How handsomely his friend had serv'd him;
His spite at me is very old,
Says master Fox, I have observ'd him;
Only because I go a fowling,
Am rich, and entertain my friends,
Whilst he, for very hunger howling,
Is fit to eat his fingers ends.
Volpone, that instant ran to court,
Salutes the Wolf quite frank and hearty,
The Monarch cried, had you good sport?
Sir Reynard, who was of your party?
Your Majesty, says the attorney,
Is misinform'd about my journey;
That I was hunting, is most true,
Making the strictest perquisitions
Of the most eminent physicians
About a remedy for you.
When your gout's fix'd or quite remov'd,
Then, Sir, my care and pious zeal,
For you, and for the common-weal,
Will be acknowledg'd and approv'd.
In the mean time, I must proceed
To tell my sov'reign of his cure;
His royal heart, I know, will bleed;
I feel myself, what he'll endure:
A Wolf must presently be got,
In such a case it is no sin,
Flay him alive, and piping hot
Wrap the King up in the Wolf's skin.
Thus Sir, if you will be directed,
Your pains will quickly be abated,
The morbid matter be ejected,
And health and vigour re-instated.
The Lion rising from his bed,
Proceeding without any heat
With one stroke only on the head,
Laid the Wolf breathless at his feet;
For simple vanity indited,
If the Mole's exile was decreed ,
I think the Wolf, that's so sharp-sighted,
Was with the greatest justice flay'd ,
For to vain-glory and weak pride,
He added perfidy beside.
If any here was flay'd alive,
Drawn in by any tempting snare,
To make the Queen alert and thrive,
'Twas not the Drone's plot you may swear.
But to conclude, let me advise
Pericles to withdraw his motion,
He must at last open his eyes,
'Tis so undutiful a notion;
Therefore, I hope, that he will use
His Sovereign better for the future;
And that you'll vote the Queen shall chuse
Whatever instrument may suit her.
As she loves bagpipes out of measure,
As Pericles is her aversion,
Indulge her royal health and pleasure,
It is an innocent diversion:
Let her old piper play his lilts,
Let him go on in his vocation;
Suffer not Pericles on stilts
To take away her consolation.
They all concurred, as you will guess,
And, as you must have pre-conceiv'd,
Drew up, and went with an address,
And were most graciously receiv'd.
The whole was nothing but collusion;
But what makes me, and should make you sick;
Pericles, chief of the confusion,
Was made the chief of the Queen's musick;
And thus these two renown'd debators,
Amus'd the people with sham matches;
And, like two honest gladiators
,
They made the fools pay for their scratches.
The Piper pipes, the Drones continue,
The Buzzers only gape and gaze,
Pericles, with a grand retinue,
Is humming somewhere about Hayes.
Till growing cooler by degrees,
An Humble Bee , with an arch smile,
Answer'd the speech of Pericles ;
Pericles means, 'tis a Greek name,
A Bee of an exalted fame.
'Twas not a common hackney tit,
No, nor Bambalio with his clangor,
Nor Taratantara , whose wit
Is quite as harmless as his anger;
Nor he whose balmy words run off,
No words run smoother or distincter,
So oily, they would cure a cough,
As soon as Hill's Balsamic Tincture;
Nor the Bee-swain , a Bee as rare,
All cloath'd in sattin and in silk,
236
Like poultices of bread and milk;
Nor Boreas , like a rumbling car,
Nor Bumbo , who must ever speak ill,
Whose eloquence resembles tar,
Much more than honey or even treacle,
Though he is sometimes called Molosses ,
Which signifies the scum of sugar,
So saith the druggerman Colossus ,
Who sold his master hugger-mugger;
This Humble Bee, far from a ranter,
Could not endure a noise and clatter,
His fort was sly socratic banter,
As to his name 'tis no great matter;
Said he , the honourable Humble
Is plac'd so high in our esteem,
237
I shall believe it is a dream.
And yet I wish he would take the trouble,
To shew his conduct in each point;
Right when 'tis simple, better double,
Most natural when out of joint.
I do not mean, I am not so blind,
So ignorant a ninny-hammer,
That Pericles should be confin'd
To rules of conduct or of grammar;
I only wish that he would shew
His right, by purchase or donation,
To all the faith we can bestow,
As well as all our admiration.
'Twould cut at once the Gordian knot,
And reconcile each contradiction,
Tergiversation be forgot,
Duplicity and dereliction.
In the mean time, on all occasions,
Till he complies with these conditions,
I must consider his orations
Only as human compositions.
238
Though I admire I can't adore him.
Why are the bagpipes such a sin?
Or why in him alone a crime?
Pericles try'd them out and in,
But he could never play in time;
And try'd, when it was all lost labour,
To rival him with pipe and tabour:
Nay, in the porches of her ear,
Like Hamlet's uncle with a phial,
When he could get the queen to hear,
Pour'd the base notes of his bass-viol.
He said, indeed, that all his playing
Was meant to disenchant the queen ;
But does he say what he is saying,
Like people that say what they mean?
So far from that, there's not a citling,
That makes excursions in the summer;
239
That does not take him for a hummer:
Therefore I earnestly beseech,
In the behalf of this poor nation,
That you will not regard his speech,
More than his life and conversation.
His arguments prove, more or less,
However furbelow'd or dress'd;
'Tis not so much for our distress,
As for himself, that he's distress'd.
His arguments are truly curious,
He hates him not for his ambition,
Nor as a drone, but he is furious,
Because he is the queen's musician:
He hates his tunes, he hates his ways,
And hates the pipe on which he plays:
But if a bagpipe be essential
To every drone both great and small,
If Pericles be consequential,
Then Pericles must hate them all.
240
How Drones and Tories got their name;
Pipes were call'd Drones, and Pipers Tories,
Now Drone and Tory mean the same.
His compliment to Drones, I take it,
Is not impenetrably deep,
There are some Tory heads awake yet,
That he would rather lull to sleep.
To dream of honey, milk, and wine,
For Tory dreams are always fine;
As children in their nurses lap,
Or rock'd in cradles sweetly lying,
Are happier dreaming of their pap,
Than when they're 'broad awake and crying.
Now take your balance, and compare
His speeches with his life and dealings,
Or else you may, without such care,
Take fine professions for fine feelings:
241
He was a Trumpeter or Cornet ,
For spitting in the fav'rite's face,
And calling him an ugly hornet.
An old coquette amongst the wasps,
Whilst Pericles was fresh and young,
Whose sting and poison, like the asps,
Lay chiefly in her head and tongue,
Long after he was sent down stairs,
Seduc'd him with her harlot airs;
In the wasp cause he appeared hearty,
Assum'd their language and their form,
Vow'd to renounce the whole Bee-party,
And take her majesty by storm:
But when his passion was abated,
He veer'd about without much pain;
When love or avarice were sated,
He turn'd a loyal Bee again:
242
In all their fancies and requests;
Made the bells ring in every steeple,
And drove their foes from all their nests.
But ah! th' inconstancy of Bees!
Roving and changing every hour!
Wafted about by every breeze,
Allur'd by every specious flower;
For now, because the queen has pitch'd
Upon the Piper to amuse her,
Pericles swears she is bewitch'd ,
And sets his mob on to abuse her:
This sure is jealousy and spleen,
Not like true love and genuine duty;
For if, like me, he lov'd the Queen,
He could not injure such a beauty:
Yet, to do justice to his merits,
He always lov'd the Queen, I know;
It is the fever on his spirits
Makes him forget what subjects owe.
243
Let me too introduce my tale ;
In a debate, before to-day,
I have known a fable turn the scale.
A Lion with a wand'ring gout,
Upon his couch, or bed, lay roaring;
The courtiers all stood round about,
Every god and aid imploring.
Excruciated like a martyr,
The doctors brought a thousand slops;
To pave the way for his departure,
They pour'd them down the Lion's chops
Of all the courtiers that attended,
Waiting about him in a ring,
The Wolf officiously pretended,
To sympathize most with the King:
Whilst we are all in such a fright,
Sir, said the Wolf, it must appear,
244
That your attorney is not here;
My friend, the Fox, is much to blame,
Now that your Majesty's so ill,
To roam about killing your game,
When you may want to make your will.
At his return the Fox was told
How handsomely his friend had serv'd him;
His spite at me is very old,
Says master Fox, I have observ'd him;
Only because I go a fowling,
Am rich, and entertain my friends,
Whilst he, for very hunger howling,
Is fit to eat his fingers ends.
Volpone, that instant ran to court,
Salutes the Wolf quite frank and hearty,
The Monarch cried, had you good sport?
Sir Reynard, who was of your party?
Your Majesty, says the attorney,
Is misinform'd about my journey;
245
Making the strictest perquisitions
Of the most eminent physicians
About a remedy for you.
When your gout's fix'd or quite remov'd,
Then, Sir, my care and pious zeal,
For you, and for the common-weal,
Will be acknowledg'd and approv'd.
In the mean time, I must proceed
To tell my sov'reign of his cure;
His royal heart, I know, will bleed;
I feel myself, what he'll endure:
A Wolf must presently be got,
In such a case it is no sin,
Flay him alive, and piping hot
Wrap the King up in the Wolf's skin.
Thus Sir, if you will be directed,
Your pains will quickly be abated,
The morbid matter be ejected,
And health and vigour re-instated.
246
Proceeding without any heat
With one stroke only on the head,
Laid the Wolf breathless at his feet;
For simple vanity indited,
If the Mole's exile was decreed ,
I think the Wolf, that's so sharp-sighted,
Was with the greatest justice flay'd ,
For to vain-glory and weak pride,
He added perfidy beside.
If any here was flay'd alive,
Drawn in by any tempting snare,
To make the Queen alert and thrive,
'Twas not the Drone's plot you may swear.
But to conclude, let me advise
Pericles to withdraw his motion,
He must at last open his eyes,
'Tis so undutiful a notion;
247
His Sovereign better for the future;
And that you'll vote the Queen shall chuse
Whatever instrument may suit her.
As she loves bagpipes out of measure,
As Pericles is her aversion,
Indulge her royal health and pleasure,
It is an innocent diversion:
Let her old piper play his lilts,
Let him go on in his vocation;
Suffer not Pericles on stilts
To take away her consolation.
They all concurred, as you will guess,
And, as you must have pre-conceiv'd,
Drew up, and went with an address,
And were most graciously receiv'd.
The whole was nothing but collusion;
But what makes me, and should make you sick;
Pericles, chief of the confusion,
Was made the chief of the Queen's musick;
And thus these two renown'd debators,
Amus'd the people with sham matches;
248
They made the fools pay for their scratches.
The Piper pipes, the Drones continue,
The Buzzers only gape and gaze,
Pericles, with a grand retinue,
Is humming somewhere about Hayes.
MORAL.
'Tis Anti-Mandivally true,True as the Gospel, or St. Paul,
The private vices of a few
Will be the ruin of us all.
This speech assumes to be the speech of Mr. Burke; and it contains some features of a speech of that Gentleman's in the House of Commons, soon after the dismission of Lord Rockingham, and the appointment of Lord Chatham to the office of Privy Seal. The Reader will still observe, that Pericles is Lord Chatham, and the Bagpiper Lord Bute.
The Poet does not here mean literally the Queen. In every hive of bees there is one large bee, called the Queen-bee. Under this character he includes the Court; or, more properly speaking, the Closet, and the secret influence that was asserted to prevail there.
By Drones here are meant the Country Gentlemen. But in other places (particularly in the last stanza, before the moral) the word signifies the Lords of the Bedchamber, and other sinecure placemen in the court and household, who are members or peers of parliament.
When Mr. Pitt accepted the title of Earl of Chatham, his popularity suffered a temporary diminution.
This tale is an allegorical description of Lord Chatham's illness at Bath, in 1767; and of the changes in the ministry, and the coalition with the Bedford party, which took place early in the year following. The Wolf is Lord Shelburne; the Fox (or attorney) Lord Camden.
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