As we have sat at work, both of one rose,1
Has humm'd sweet canzons both in verse and prose,
Which I ne'er minded. Astrophel, a bee
(Although not so poetical as he)

Yet in his full invention quick and ripe,
In summer evenings, on his well-tun'd pipe,
Upon a woodbine blossom in the sun,

(Our hive being clean-swept, and our day's work done,)

Would play me twenty several tunes; yet I

Nor minded Astrophel, nor his melody.

Then there's Amniter, for whose love fair Leade
(That pretty bee) flies up and down the mead
With rivers in her eyes, without deserving
Sent me trim acorn bowls of his own carving,
To drink May dew and mead in. Yet none of
these,

My hive-born playfellows and fellow bees,
Could I affect, until this strange bee came,
And him I love with such an ardent flame,
Discretion cannot quench.

He labours and toils,
Extracts more honey out of barren soils

Than twenty lazy drones. I have heard my father, Steward of the hive, profess that he had rather Lose half the swarm than him. If a bee, poor or

weak,

Grows faint on 's way, or by misfortune break
A wing or leg against a twig;

alive

Or dead, he 'Il bring into the master's hive

Him and his burthen. But the other day,

1 Prettily pilfered from the sweet passage in the Midsummer Night's Dream, where Helena recounts to Hermia their schoolday's friendship :

We Hermia, like two artificial gods,

Created with our needles both one flower,
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion.

On the next plain, there grew a fatal fray Betwixt the wasps and us; the wind grew high, And a rough storm rag'd so impetuously,

Our bees could scarce keep wing; then fell such rain,

It made our colony forsake the plain,

And fly to garrison, yet still he stood,

And 'gainst the whole swarm made his party good,
And at each blow he gave, cried out His Vow,
His Vow, and Arethusa !-On each bough
And tender blossom he engraves her name
With his sharp sting. To Arethusa's fame
He consecrates his actions; all his worth
Is only spent to character her forth.

On damask roses, and the leaves of pines,

I have seen him write such amorous moving lines
In Arethusa's praise, as my poor heart

Has, when I read them, envied her desert,
And wept and sigh'd to think that he should be
To her so constant, yet not pity me.

PROREX, Viceroy of Bees under KING OBERON, describes his large prerogative.

To us, who warranted by Oberon's love,

Write Ourself Master Bee, both field and grove, Garden and orchard, lawns and flowery meads, Where th' amorous wind plays with the golden

heads

Of wanton cowslips, daisies in their prime,
Sun-loving marigolds, the blossom'd thyme,
The blue-vein'd violets, and the damask rose,
The stately lily, mistress of all those,

Are allow'd and given, by Oberon's free areed,
Pasture for me, and all my swarms to feed.

[

-the doings,

The births, the wars, the wooings,

of these pretty little winged creatures are with continued liveliness

portrayed throughout the whole of this curious old Drama, in words which bees would talk with, could they talk; the very air seems replete with humming and buzzing melodies, while we read them. Surely bees were never so be- rhymed before.]

FURTHER EXTRACTS FROM THE SAME.
OBERON. FLORA, a Bee.

Ober. A female bee! thy character ?
Flo. Flora, Oberon's gardener,

Huswife both of herbs and flowers,

To strew thy shrine, and trim thy bowers,
With violets, roses, eglantine,
Duffadown, and blue columbine,
Hath forth the bosom of the spring
Pluck'd this nosegay, which I bring
From Eleusis, mine own shrine,
To thee, a monarch all divine;
And, as true impost of my grove,
Present it to great Oberon's love.
Ober. Honey dews refresh thy meads,
Cowslips spring with golden heads,
July-flowers and carnations wear
Leaves double-streak'd, with maiden-hair;
May thy lilies taller grow,

Thy violets fuller sweetness owe;
And last of all, may Phœbus love

To kiss thee, and frequent thy grove,
As thou in service true shalt be

Unto our crown and royalty.

OBERON holds a court, in which he sentences the Wasp, the Drone, and the Humble Bee, for divers offences against the Commonwealth of Bees.

OBERON. PROREX, his viceroy and other Bees.

Pro. And whither must these flies be sent ?
Ober. To everlasting banishment.

་

Underneath two hanging rocks
(Where babbling Echo sits and mocks
Poor travellers) there lies a grove,
With whom the sun 's so out of love,
He never smiles on 't; pale Despair
Calls it his monarchal chair.

Fruit, half-ripe, hang rivell'd and shrunk
On broken arms, torn from the trunk :
The moorish pools stand empty, left
By water, stol'n by cunning theft
To hollow banks, driven out by snakes,
Adders, and newts, that man these lakes:
The mossy weeds, half-swelter'd, serv'd
As beds for vermin hunger-sterv'd:
The woods are yew-trees, rent, and broke
By whirlwinds; here and there an oak,
Half-cleft with thunder. To this grove
We banish them.

Culprits. Some mercy, Jove!

Ober. You should have cried so in your youth,
When Chronos and his daughter Truth
Sojourn'd amongst you; when you spent
Whole years in riotous merriment,
Thrusting poor Bees out of their hives,
Seizing both honey, wax, and lives;
You should have call'd for mercy when
You impal'd common blossoms, when,
Instead of giving poor Bees food,

You ate their flesh, and drank their blood.

Fairies, thrust them to their fate.

OBERON then confirms PROREX in his government, and breaks up session

Prorex shall again renew

His potent reign: the massy world,

Which in glittering orbs is hurl'd

About the poles, be lord of: we

Only reserve our royalty-
Field Music. Oberon must away;
For us our gentle fairies stay:
In the mountains and the rocks
We'll hunt the gray, and little fox,
Who destroy our lambs at feed,
And spoil the nests where turtles feed.

THE HECTORS, A COMEDY:

By E. PRESTWICH.

A Waiting Maid wheedles an old Justice into a belief that her Lady is in love with him.

Maid. I think there never was woman of so strange

I

a humour as she is, in this world; for from her infancy she ever doted on old men. have heard her say, that in these her late law troubles, it has been no small comfort to her, that she has been conversant with grave counsellors and serjeants, and what a happiness she had to look sometimes an hour together upon the judges. She will go and walk a whole afternoon in Charterhouse Garden, on purpose to view the ancient gentlemen there. Not long ago there was a young gentleman here about the town, who, hearing of her riches, and knowing this her humour, had almost got her, by counterfeiting himself to be an old man.

Justice. And how came he to miss her?

Maid. The strangeliest that ever you heard; for all

things were agreed, the very writings drawn, and when he came to seal them, because he

1 The hum of Bees.