Signor Topsy-Turvy's wonderful magic lantern or The World turned upside down. By the author of "My Mother," and other poems [Ann and Jane Taylor]. Illustrated with twenty-four engravings |
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THE BEE TURNED DRONE.
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 | Signor Topsy-Turvy's wonderful magic lantern |  |
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THE BEE TURNED DRONE.
A bee who had travell'd so far and so wide,
There scarce was a wild flower he had not espied,
A bean-field, a primrose, or daisy;
Who had ever been active, and first on the wing,
As soon as warm weather gave notice of spring,
Took it into his head to be lazy.
There scarce was a wild flower he had not espied,
A bean-field, a primrose, or daisy;
Who had ever been active, and first on the wing,
As soon as warm weather gave notice of spring,
Took it into his head to be lazy.
Said he to himself, as he mused on a tree,
“I don't think I'm handsomely dealt by,” says he,
“And am not over-pleased, I must own;
“I have travell'd so often, and labour'd so well,
“And laid such a plentiful store in the cell,
“That I've now a great mind to turn drone.
“I don't think I'm handsomely dealt by,” says he,
“And am not over-pleased, I must own;
“I have travell'd so often, and labour'd so well,
“And laid such a plentiful store in the cell,
“That I've now a great mind to turn drone.
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“'Tis hard when my youth and my spirits are fled,
“And so many bean-fields are wither'd and dead,
“That one scarcely earns salt to one's porridge;
“I say it is hard to fag early and late,
“Like the rawest young fellow that works for the state,
“To supply the republic with forage!
“And so many bean-fields are wither'd and dead,
“That one scarcely earns salt to one's porridge;
“I say it is hard to fag early and late,
“Like the rawest young fellow that works for the state,
“To supply the republic with forage!
“Without more ado, I'll let business alone,
“And live on my fortune, a gentleman drone,
“From toil and anxiety freed:”
So back to the door of his dwelling he sped,
And swaggering a little, and tossing his head,
Called out for a bottle of mead.
“And live on my fortune, a gentleman drone,
“From toil and anxiety freed:”
So back to the door of his dwelling he sped,
And swaggering a little, and tossing his head,
Called out for a bottle of mead.
“You there, little buzz,” said he, “mind what I say,
“Get ready my supper by seven to-day,
“Before you see after your own!”
“Hey, friend!” said a bee, hard at work in his cell,
“I have not the pleasure of hearing you well;”
“Sir,” said he, “I'm a gentleman drone.”
“Get ready my supper by seven to-day,
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“Hey, friend!” said a bee, hard at work in his cell,
“I have not the pleasure of hearing you well;”
“Sir,” said he, “I'm a gentleman drone.”
“O! a gentleman drone, are you friend?” he replied,
Then drawing a little shrill trump from his side,
Blew forth such a spirited air,
That a volunteer band, two and two from the hive,
Left the poor little fellow more dead than alive,
At leisure some luckier plan to contrive,
Than playing the gentleman there.
Then drawing a little shrill trump from his side,
Blew forth such a spirited air,
That a volunteer band, two and two from the hive,
Left the poor little fellow more dead than alive,
At leisure some luckier plan to contrive,
Than playing the gentleman there.
[A.]
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