Defire of Profit urges all Degrees :
The aged Infects, by Experience wife,
Attend the Comb, and fashion ev'ry Part,
And fhape the waxen Fret-work out with Art:
The Young, at Night returning from their Toils,
Bring home their Thighs, clog'd with the Meadows Spoils :
On Lavender and Saffron Buds they feed,
On bending Offers, and the balmy Reed.
From purple Vi'lets and the Toyle they bring
Their gather'd Sweets, and rifle all the Spring.
All work together, all together reft;
The Morning ftill renews their Labours paft;
Then all rush out, their diff'rent Tasks purfue,
Sit on the Bloom, and fuck the rip'ning Dew:
Again, when Ev'ning warns them to their Home,
With weary Wings and heavy Thighs they come,
And crowd about the Chink, and mix a drowsy Hum:
Into their Cells at length they gently creep;
There all the Night their peaceful Station keep,
Wrapt up in Silence, and diffolv'd in Sleep:
None range abroad, when Winds or Storms are nigh,
Nor truft their Bodies to a faithlefs Sky;
But make fmall Journeys with a careful Wing,
water at a neighb'ring Spring:
And, left their airy Bodies fhould be caft
In reftlefs Whirls, the Sport of ev'ry Blaft,
They carry Stones to poife them in their Flight,
As Ballaft keeps th'unfteady Veffel right.
But of all Customs, that the Bees can boast,
'Tis this may challenge Admiration most;
That none will Hymen's fofter Joys approve,
Nor waste their Spirits in luxurious Love;
But all a
a long Virginity maintain,
And bring forth Young without a Mother's Pain.
From Herbs and Flow'rs they pick each tender Bee,
And cull from Plants a buzzing Progeny.
From thefe they chufe out Subjects, and create
A little Monarch of the rifing State
Then build Wax Kingdoms for the Infant Prince,
And form a Palace for his Refidence.
But often in their Journeys, as they fly,
On Flints they tear their filken Wings, or lie
Grov'ling beneath their flow ry Load, and die.
Thus Love of Honey can an Infect fire,
And in a Fly fuch gen'rous Thoughts infpire:
Yet, by repeopling their decaying State,
Tho' fev'n fhort Springs conclude their viral Date;
Their ancient Stocks eternally remain,
And, in an endlefs Race, the Childrens Children reign,
No proftrate Vaffal of the Eaft can more,
With flavish Fear his haughty Prince adore:
His Life unites them all; but, when he dies
All in loud Tumults and Diftractions rife;
They wafte their Honey, and their Combs deface,
And wild Confufion reigns in ev'ry Place:
Him all admire, all the great Guardian own;
And crowd about his Courts, and buz about his Throne:
Oft on their Backs their weary Prince they bear;
Oft in his Caufe, embattel'd in the Air,
Purfue a glorious Death, in Wounds and War.
Twice in the Year their flow'ry Toils begin,
And twice they fetch their dewy Harvest in:
Once, when the lovely Pleiades arife,
And add fresh Luftre to the Summer Skies;
And once, when, haft'ning from the watry Sign,
They quit their Station, and forbear to shine. Add. Virg.
The King provides, his Subjects Toils furveys;
The fervile Rout their careful Cæfar praise:
Him they extol; they worship him alone :
They crowd his Levees, and fupport his Throne:
They raise him on their Shoulders with a Shour
And, when their Sov'raign's Quarrel calls them out,
His Foes to mortal Combat they defy;
And think it Honour at his Feet to die.
Induc'd by fuch Examples, fome have taught,
That Bees have Portions of Etherial Thought;
Endu'd with Particles of heav'nly Fires:
For God the whole created Mafs infpires;
Thro' Heav'n, and Earth, and Ocean's Depth he throws
His Influence round, and kindles as he goes.
Hence Flocks, and Herds, and Men, and Beafts, and Fowls,
With Breath are quicken'd; and attract their Souls:
Hence take the Forms his Prefcience did ordain ;
And into him at length refolve again :
No Room is left for Death; they mount the Sky;
And to their own congenial Planets fly. Dryd. Virg.
The Bees are prone to Rage, and often found
To perish for Revenge, and die upon the Wound:
Their venom'd Sting produces aking Pains,
And fwells the Flesh, and fhoots along the Veins.
When Sickness reigns, for Bees, as well as we,
Feel all th' Effects of frail Mortality,
By certain Marks the new Disease is feen,
Their Colour changes, and their Looks are thin :
Their Fun'ral Rites are form'd, and ev'ry Bee
With Grief attends the fad Solemnity:
The few difeas'd Survivors hang before
Their fickly Cells, and droop about the Door:
Or flowly in their Hives their Limbs unfold,
Shrunk up with Hunger, and benumb'd with Cold:
In drawling Hums the feeble Infects grieve,
And doleful Buzzes echo thro' the Hive;
Like Winds that foftly murmur thro' the Trees,
Like Flames pent up, or like retiring Seas. Add. Virg.
The Learned write, an Infect Breeze
Is but a mungrel Prince of Bees,
That falls, before a Storm, on Cows,
And ftings the Founders of his Houfe;
From whofe corrupted Flesh that breed
Of Vermine did at firft proceed. Hud.
When th' Under-World is feiz'd with Cold and Night,
And Summer here defcends in Streams of Light;
The Bees thro' Woods and Forefts take their Flight.
They rifle ev'ry Flow'r, and lightly skim ·
The cryftal Brook, and fip the running Stream:
And thus they feed their Young with strange Delight;
And knead the yielding Wax, and work the flimy Sweet.
Add. Virg.
Mark, how the little untaught Builders fquare
Their Rooms, and in the Dark their Lodgings rear!
Nature's Mechanicks! they unweary'd ftrive,
And fill with curious Labyrinths the Hive.
See, what bright Strokes of Architecture shine
Thro' the whole Frame! what Beauty! what Defign!
In what juft Order all th' Apartments rife!
So regular their equal Sides cohere,
Th' Adapted Angles fo each other bear,
That by mechanick Rules, refin'd and bold,
They are at once upheld, at once uphold:
Each verdant Hill th' industrious Chymists climb,
Extract the Riches of the blooming Thyme,
And, provident of Winter long before,
They ftock their Caves, and hoard their flow'ry Store :
The yellow Pillage of the rifled Flow'r.
In Peace they rule their State with prudent Care,
Wifely defend, or wage offenfive War. Blac. Creat.
If e'er two Rival Kings their Right debate,
And Factions and Cabals embroil the State,
The Peoples Actions will their Thoughts declare;
All their Hearts tremble, and beat thick with War.
Hoarfe, broken Sounds, like Trumpet's harsh Alarms,
Run thro' the Hive, and call them to their Arms:
All in a Hurry fpread their fhiv'ring Wings,
And fit their Claws, and point their angry Stings:
In Crowds before the King's Pavilion meet,
And boldly challenge out the Foe to fight:
At laft, when all the Heav'ns are warm and fair,
They rufh together out, and join: The Air
Swarms thick, and echo's with the humming War.
All in a firm round Clufter mix, and ftrow,
With Heaps of little Corps, the Ground below;
As thick as Hail-Stones from the Floor rebound,
Or fhaken Atoms rattle on the Ground.
No Senfe of Danger can their Kings controul,
Their little Bodies lodge a mighty Soul:
Each, obftinate in Arms, purfues his Blow,
Till fhameful Flight fecures the routed Foe.
This hot Difpute, and all this mighty Fray,
A little Duft, flung upward, will allay.
The Kings are diff'rent: one, of better Note,
All fpeck'd with Gold, and many a fhining Spor,
Looks gay, and gliftens in a gilded Coat.
But Love of Eafe, and Sloth in one prevails,
That fcarce his hanging Paunch behind him trails:
The Peoples Looks are diff'rent as their Kings;
Some fparkle bright, and glitter in their Wings:
Others look loathfome, and difeas'd with Sloth;
Like a faint Traveller, whofe dufty Mouth
Grows dry with Hear, and spits a maukish Froth.
Add. Virg.
But when on high you fee the Bees repair
Borne on the Winds thro' diftant Tracts of Air,
And view the winged Cloud all black'ning from afar;
While fhady Coverts and fresh Streams they chufe,
On brazen Veffels beat a tinkling Sound,
And shake the Cymbals of the Goddess round:
Then all will haftily retreat, and fill
The warm refounding Hollow of their Cell. Add. Virg. Deep in the Palace, of long Growth there ftood,
A Laurel Trunk, a venerable Wood:
'It happen'd once, a boding Prodigy;
A Swarm of Bees, that cut the liquid Sky,
Upon the topmoft Branch in Clouds alight;
There with their clafping Feet together clung;
And a long Clufter from the Laurel hung. Dryd. Virg.
But when they fport abroad, and rove from Home,
And leave the cooling Hive, and quit th' unfinifh'd Comb
are with Eafe confin'd:
and, if they stay behind,
No bold Ufurper dares invade their Right,
Nor found a March, nor give the Sign for Fight. Add. Virg.
So when a Summer-Cloud the Sky o'erfpreads,
The Bees, that wander o'er the flowry Meads,
Or to the Tops of lofty Mountains climb,
To fetch the yellow Spoils of od'rous Thyme,
Forfake their Toil; and, lab'ring thro' the Air,
To their known Hives,, with halty Flight, repair:
All, to their Cells returning from abroad,
Depofe their luscious Dew, and ftrutting Thighs unload.
The Bees from Flow'r to Flow'r fly humming o'er the Field,
To fuck the Morning Dew, which new-born Lillies yield.
Laud, Virg.
So fwarming Bees, that, on a Summer's Day,
In airy Rings, and wild Meanders play,
Charm'd with the brazen Sound, their Wand'rings end,
And, gently circling, on a Bough defcend. Young.
As when the Bees their waxen Town forfake,
Careless in Air their wand'ring Way they take
No more in cluft'ring Swarms condens'd they fly,
But fleet uncertain thro' the various Sky;
No more from Flow'rs they fuck the liquid Sweer,
But all their Cares and Industry forget:
Then, if at length the tinkling Brafs they hear,
With fwift Amaze the Flight they foon forbear;
Suddain their flow'ry Labours they renew,
Hang on the Thyme, and fip the balmy Dew.
Mean time, fecure on Hybla's fragrant Plain,
With Joy exults the happy Shepherd-Swain,
Proud that his Heart has thus preferv'd his Store,
He fcorns to think his homely Cottage poor.. Rowe Luc.
So when a Foe invades the fragrant Cells
In which the Bees induftrious Nation dwells;
The watchful Centinels the Signal give,
To raise the whole Militia of the Hive:
Strait mighty Uproar, Tumult, warlike Sound,
Thro' all the waxy Labyrinth rebound.
From their high Seats the noify Youth defcend
In raging Troops their Fortsefs to defend:
The trembling Roof refounds with threat'ning Swarms,
With Captains Fury, and the Din of Arms. Blac. K. Arth.
So wand'ring Bees would periff in the Air, Did not a Sound, proportion'd to their Ear,
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