The Drones they neither work, nor can
Do aught but sleep on a divan;
And smoke their pipes through all the day;
Chibouks these love, and those a clay.
Such is their life—who would not be
A happy little worker Bee;
A Queen's too high for me,—a Drone,
Such laziness I let alone.
Fytte II. The Pig.
Now Johnny Dull had once a pig,—
'T was far from fat, its bones were big.
To scratch his hide with all his might
Was this poor piggie's sole delight.
Once on a time it so fell out
He in the garden roamed about:
He chanced to have an itching mood;
The bee house quite convenient stood—
