"Up children up, to swarm prepare"
"The honey thief sits stinking there."
"And we who love the scent of roses"
"Have stale tobacco in our noses."
"We toil, we sweat from early May"
"To lay up for a rainy day."
"Our cells we fill, and at the Fall"
"He sulphers us, and takes it all."
"So let us one and all deride"
"This honey thief, this Bee-i-cide."
"Up children, up! to swarm prepare"
"Whilst Master Dull sits snoring there."
"A devil he, upon my troth:"
"Buzz! buzz! Hum! Hum! The swarm is off!"
Fytte III. The Rivals.
"Nothing like soup," is still the cry
In each well ordered family;
So on Christine the duty fell
To cull the herbs they love so well;
And every morn, the charming maid
Within her father's garden strayed,
Parsley to pluck, wherewith to make
The soup, which they at noon should take.
Her father's garden marched, I ween,
With that of Mr. Richard Dean;
A school-master by trade was he,
And she esteemed him—maidenly.
But by degrees, within her soul
A softer, tenderer passion stole;
Love—full of joy and full of sorrow,
Sunshine to day, and storm to-morrow,—
Love may forget a parsley bed,
And dream of golden flowers instead.