With puffing bellows fome the flames increase,
And some in waters dip the hiffing mafs,

Their beaten anvils dreadfully refound,

༢༠ །

And Etna fhakes all o'er, and thunders under

ground.

Thus, if great things we may with small compare, The bufy fwarms their diff'rent labours share. Defire of profit urges all degrees;

The aged infects, by experience wife,
Attend the comb, and fashion ev'ry part,
And shape 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 faffron-buds they feed,
On bending ofiers, and the balmy reed,
From purple violets and the teile they bring
Their gather'd sweets and rifle all the spring.
All work together, all together rest.

The morning still renews their labours past;
Then all rush out, their diff'rent tasks pursue,
Sit on the bloom, and fuck the rip'ning dew;

Again when evening warns 'em 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 filence, and diffolv'd in sleep.

None range abroad when winds and storms are nigh,
Nor truft their bodies to a faithless sky,

But make fmall journeys, with a careful wing,
And fly to water at a neighb'ring fpring;
And left their airy bodies should be cast
In restless whirls, the sport of ev'ry blast,
They carry ftones to poife 'em 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 fpirits in luxurious love,

But all a long virginity maintain,

And bring forth young without a mother's pain.

From

From herbs and flow'rs they pick each tender bee, And cull from plants a buzzing progeny;

From these they choose out fubjects, 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,

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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 generous thoughts infpire.
Yet by repeopling their decaying state,
Tho' fev'n short springs conclude their vital date,
Their ancient stocks eternally remain,

And in an endless race their childrens children reign.
No proftrate vaffal of the east can more
With flavish fear his mighty Prince adore;
His life unites 'em all; but when he dies,

All in loud tumults and diftractions rise;

They waste their honey, and their combs deface, And wild confufion reigns in ev'ry place.

VOL. I.

D

Him

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 cause embattled in the air,

Pursue a glorious death, in wounds and war.

Some from fuch inftances as these have taught "The bees extract is heav'nly; for they thought The univerfe alive; and that a foul,

"Diffus'd throughout the matter of the whole, "To all the vast unbounded frame was given, "And ran thro' earth, and air, and sea, and all the deep of heav'n;

"That this first kindled life in man and beaft, "Life that again flows into this at last.

"That no compounded animal could die, "But when diffolv'd, the spirit mounted high, "Dwelt, in a star, and fettled in the sky.

When-e'er their balmy fweets you mean to feize, And take the liquid labours of the bees,

Spirt draughts of water from your mouth, and drive.

A lothfom cloud of smoke amidst their hive.

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 fummer skies:
And once when haft'ning from the watry fign
They quit their ftation, and forbear to shine.

The bees are prone to rage, and often found
To perish for revenge, and die upon the wound.
Their venom'd fting produces aching pains,
And fwells the flesh, and shoots among the veins.
When first a cold hard winter's storms arrive,
And threaten death or famine to their hive,
If now their finking state and low affairs
Can move your pity, and provoke your cares,
Fresh burning thyme before their cells convey,
And cut their dry and husky wax away;
For often lizards feize the luscious fpoils,
Or drones that riot on another's toils:
Oft broods of moths infeft the hungry fwarms,
And oft the furious wafp their hive alarms
With louder hums, and with unequal arms;