Fable XXVIII. the Wasps and Bees

A BEE, the leader of its hive, As great as any BEE alive; Of enterprizing disposition, A warrior, and a politician; As once he took his humming flight, Upon a cowship chanc'd to light; And while from golden cup he drew Luxurious draughts of honey dew, A jealous WASP, with words like these, Abus'd in him the race of BEES.

Why, how now, thou maroding elf, Thou dost not surely know thyself; Else couldst thou not pretend to range, From clime to clime in search of change; And plunder all the fields along, Where'er thou com'st, or right or wrong; But BEES, indeed, both great and small, Are little less than robbers all; A poor, dependent set of knaves, To undeserving mankind slaves; Who think their citadel of straw Should keep the INSECT world in awe.

Hence let me warn thee from this spot, Which Nature has ordain'd my lot; Or else, tho' thousands should protect, Some dreadful punishment expect; Annihilation, without trace Of you, or any of your race—

The BEE with sullen wonder heard, And, fearless, weigh'd each single word; Thrice he in vain essay'd to speak, Thrice could not teeming silence break; Just pride the pow'r of speech restrain'd; For tho' he felt, he still disdain'd To enter singly in the lift With such a vile antagonist; So spread his pinions, and retreated, In haste, as if he'd been defeated.

Great thoughts, at once, the WASP inspire, To see his hated foe retire; His nest he sought with eager haste, And being in the center plac'd, Declar'd with how much spirit he Had guarded public property.

When he had told the sanguine tale, Which pride imagin'd could not fail High in the rolls of deathless FAME, To blazon his immortal name; Debates, which made no little clatter, Arose about th' important matter.

Some prais'd, while some express'd dislike; Worth cannot all opinions strike; The young and forward wasps agreed, Some honours should be strait decreed; For less 'twas thought they could not render, To such a spirited defender.

One, glibber tongu'd than all the rest, Thus plausibly harangued the nest: I know not why, my valiant friends, Since justice on ourselves depends, Maroding BEES uncheck'd should roam, While fearful we remain at home: Do we not boast as nimble wings, As mighty hearts, as deadly stings? Glory invites, with friendly call, Shall we not own the summons all? Forth let us fly, and strait engage Our mortal foes, with martial rage: If none of greater merit claim The foremost post in paths of FAME, Boldly in front myself I'll place, And danger's first approaches face; Live with immortal honour crown'd, Or bravely fall, a WASP renown'd.

My friends, replies an aged Sire, Fools only specious show admire; Sound policy, and solid sense, Will ponder still the consequence; In states we find, as private life, There's little got by ill-tim'd strife.

Perhaps, I may appear too stoic, To censure measures so heroic; But know, you'll find on coolest thought, Ev'n HONEY may be dearly bought; Kind Nature yields sufficient store To feed us all; what need we more? We may be happy, if we please, As peaceful WASPS, or peaceful BEES; But if we plunge ourselves in war, We cannot tell the end of care; Let INSECTS what they have enjoy, And monster MAN his kind destroy.

This sage advice, however right, Was treated with a gen'ral slight.

Mean while the BEES a message sent, To know their waspish foes intent; Whether submission should release, From threaten'd war, and give them peace, Or resolute in bold defiance, On Fortune they would fix reliance?

Remonstrance to the Quixote train Of pride-swell'd insects, prov'd in vain; They bade the Herald wing his flight, And say their wishes were to fight; That blows, that wounds, that death alone, With horrors and distress unknown, In that, or any other age, Their kindled fury could asswage.

The BEES, determin'd to chastise This haughty slight of compromize, A war began; and Fortune sate Three summer months, in doubtful state, On which to turn the fav'ring gale, Suspending nicely Conquest's scale; While many stingless champions lay, To hungry spiders easy prey; Till both sides wearied, thought it best, For that campaign, at least, to rest.

Their suff'rings in the field were great, Yet home produc'd a sharper fate; For now the flow'ry time was o'er, Design'd to furnish Winter's store; In vain they sought the russet fields, The year declin'd no nurture yields; Pale Famine gave a gen'ral shock, On finding Glory all their stock.

Our warriors wounded to the heart, Breath'd out despair on either part; Forgot the trivial cause of strife, So hanging o'er the verge of life, Agreed to curse ambitious Pride— Sad counsellor!—and starving dy'd.