Fytte IV. the Swarm
John Dull, awakened from his slumber,
Observed his stock’s diminished number;
His apple trees he searched, and found
The swarm some ten feet from the ground;
Got his bee dress, his hive, and ladder;
No Bee master was ever gladder.
Mounted, and without any trip
Got all the bees within the skip—
“Well done I have them;” as he spoke
The ladder’s top-most rung it broke,
Crack! Crack! and, as I hope to thrive,
The same befel the other five;
The bees rush forth and quit the hive!
John on his knees, and free from harm
Marked well the disappearing swarm.
Two boys were making pies of dirt
Close by, and playing with a squirt;
They squirted at the bees to stop ’em,
Squirted in vain; they could not drop ’em.
Old Sally met them with her mop,
And Sammy trumpeted, stop! stop!
And Dick and Bob and Bill they screeched,
But not a sound these flyers reached—
A Sweep upon the chimney top
Showered soot upon them, and cried “Stop!”
When they had cleared the churches roof,
Sam Dutton put his gun to proof;
John Dull came panting up behind
And could no other stopper find;
He stamped and swore and scratched his head,
“A pretty dance I have been led,”
“Confound the bees; I’ve got a warming”
Some way I’ll find to stop their swarming;
A hive I’ll build as big as two,
Sold by Mancubrian P.tt.gr.w.