The Bee's Bayonet Part 1

The Bee's Bayonet.

by Edwin Alfred Watrous.

PROEM

If you can find, within, a single line To give you pleasure, then the pleasure's mine; But if you fail and whine, or _josh_ like Billings, You might (I say you _might_!) get back your shillings.

But better yet! Bestow this Book of Verses On some friend-foe you love with hate and curses, And your revenge will be attained thereafter For, when he reads it, he will die with laughter.

And, Cheerful Reader, if this work contains A soporific for your bulging brains So that you'll _rave about it_ to your neighbors, I'll feel repaid for all rebuffs and labors.

Though "Wisdom sometimes borrows, sometimes lends,"

You'll borrow trouble lending this to friends; But earn my thanks if, when you've praised or shown it, You'll sit upon the lid and never loan it: For ev'ry copy sold, thru friends or slapbacks, Just puts Mo'la.s.ses on my buckwheat flapjacks.

And, Critic Friend, who halts Ambition's flight And ties the can to Aspiration's kite, Pray recollect that when _you_ plied the pen And had some stuff accepted now and then, Your tales, O! Henry, did not prove inviting Or else you'd be no Cynic but still writing.

THE BEE'S BAYONET

BEHOLD A MAN!

There stands a MAN! unyielding and defiant, A master LEADER, bold and self-reliant.

He seeks no conquest but his lance is set Against the ruthless Despot's parapet.

Alert and conscious of his strength, his thrust Is sure and timely, for his cause is just.

Invincible, he rallies to his cause Those who love Justice and respect the laws.

To skulking traitors and to spying foes He shows no mercy, but his heart o'erflows For those oppressed, who live, nay! who exist Where arrogance and tyranny persist: But, tho distressed by all this human grief, He weeps not idly, but _compels_ relief: And those he serves by act or speech or pen, One Hundred Million _freemen_, shout, AMEN!

"Safe for Democracy the world must be, And all its bondaged peoples shall be free!"

So spake the MAN: America thus voiced Its ultimatum, and the Earth rejoiced!

Intensely human, cast from mortal clay In Nature's mould, one epoch-making day, Behold a MAN! he seems a higher sort, Refined with purest gold from G.o.d's Retort And filled with skill and wisdom, Heaven-sent: G.o.d bless and keep our peerless PRESIDENT!

THE JULOGY

To those who never heard my Songs before, And those _who have_, and _want to nevermore_, This Rhapsody, with all its pithy phrases, Has pa.s.sed the Censors with the highest praises.

Released by favor of the Board's caprice, It takes its proper place--a masterpiece!

Soft pedal, please! The Knockers are outcla.s.sed, And Genius finds its recompense at last!

Whene'er I read about this war-time pelf It makes me sick: I can't contain myself!

The profits on the _die_-stuffs sent to France Make Croesus' wealth a trifling circ.u.mstance; And what the Farmers get for mules and wheat Makes fortunes. .h.i.therto quite obsolete.

In by-gone days the Bards were praised and pensioned Who now are at the Front--and rarely mentioned: And all these hardships they endure while men _Who write big checks_, thus scandalize the pen.

The Writers should throw off their yokes and collars And drill their brains to cultivate the dollars.

The talents they possess are strictly mental And can't be utilized for food and rental.

Their thoughts are capital, but who'll invest In Sonnet Stock without some _interest_?

Or who'd take stock in Poem Plants? Alack!

He who invests expects the yellowback.

But here I'm talking _money_: what a joke For one to thus discourse who's always broke!

Since "money talks" we'll suffer it to speak,-- "I am the thing that countless millions seek; Greed's inspiration, Evil's very root, The Nemesis of those in my pursuit.

Kings pay me homage, p.a.w.n their crowns to me And, deathless, I enslave their progeny.

Men famed for n.o.ble deeds, who court my smile, Ofttimes surrender probity to guile: Who, needy, follows my uncertain path, I may elude and favor him who hath,-- For I have wings, and lightning speeds my flight,-- Wealthy to-day, a pauper overnight!

The Ticker tells the tale from day to day: Brings joy to some, to others dire dismay."

This Work is copyrighted just to show To what low depths the Pirate Press will go.

They borrow thunder from the Vulcan forge, Then draw the fire and put the s.m.u.t on George.

Each song or verse, it seems to me, should be Distinguished by originality If nothing else (the matter may be sloppy,-- But that's no matter if there's ample copy) So that the Author's face could be unmasked And recognized without a question asked; Or, so identify Calliope By strident notes of high-toned quality; Or thus detect some Poet's "fist" and style By I. O. U.'s unhonored yet awhile.

The Pirates thus would cease perforce their trade, And Bacon would not be confused with Ade.

In all my songs I do the work myself, And draw no inspiration from the Shelf.

Perhaps my lines would be more read, if cribbed, But George and I, you know, have never fibbed, And what is more, I think my lines are sweeter Than those of Dante, with infernal meter; And more heroic, and not half so sad As Homer's couplets in the _Ill_iad; And far more musical and much prettier Than those by Tennyson or by Whittier.

Each bar is known to me, its licensee, And ev'ry note has had my scrutiny: I also watch my pauses, moods and tenses, And have no words with fair amanuenses.

If you could see my workshop (do not ask it!) You'd find more "carbons" in my paper-basket, More rough, unpolished diamonds there immured Than you, Dear Reader, ever have endured.

I have no Jewish blood, not e'en a strain: That's what I lack! If ever born again I'd requisition Hebrew sire and dam, Something akin, methinks, to Abraham, And take these "jewels," doomed unseen to flash, Gloss o'er their flaws, and turn them into cash.

Here's where I doff my bonnet to the Jew!

Tho' sore oppressed they're still the Chosen Few: A _few_ in numbers but a mighty host When reckoned by the things that count the most,-- I mean _achievements_, won by toilsome stages In spite of persecutions thru the Ages.

I see these Davids watching o'er their flocks In Palestine. (To-day they watch their stocks And clip the coupons from their bonds, you see, Just as they sheared the lambs in Galilee.) _There_ milk and honey in abundance vied To keep the Simple Simons satisfied; But _here_ to luxuries the Josephs cling, And milk the honey from most everything.

Time was when you were treated with disdain But now the tune is quite a changed refrain, And Gentiles everywhere take special pains To pay respectful tribute to your brains!

Behold your ancient hills and rugged rocks; Your fruitful valleys with their golden shocks Of Grain that, grouped around the stately dates, Seem to defy the _threshing_ that awaits!

Here olives ripen 'neath the summer skies And yield rich oil,--first Standard Oil supplies; 'Twas here the mighty Samson filled with awe The Philistines and flayed them with his jaw; (No man before, or since, thus courted fame, For woman holds these records in _her_ name.) And here wise Solomon refused the vote In statecraft matters to the Petticoat; But when the Referendum was installed The wise old King's objection was Recalled.

And then there's David caring for his sheep, And big Goliath (_rocking_ him to sleep).

There j.a.pheth, Shem and Ham are; Ham tabooed By Moses in his Treatises on Food; And Jehu with his pair of chestnut colts Trotting the highway down like thunderbolts.

If Jehu _reined_ to-day he'd swap his stable For high-power Auto, with a foreign label, And hold the record for the Sh.o.r.e Road trip From Tyre to Sidon at a lightning clip,-- And make his whiskers, driven by the breeze, Look like a storm-tossed frigate on the seas.

There's Jacob dreaming, seeing more than Esau, And giving him the double-cross and hee-haw; Obtaining Esau's birthright (Silly Dupe!) For three bra.s.s spheroids and a bowl of soup.

He traded for it--didn't have to buy it!

'Cause Brother Hairy, glutton, wouldn't diet.

But "chickens come back home to roost," forsooth, And Jacob in his dotage learned this truth, When Leah's sons, of ordinary clay, Put Rachel's Joseph in the consomme.

As Financiers the palm has been bestowed, In panegyric, melody and ode, On Jacob's sons. The caravans, that pa.s.sed Thru burning sands, from cities far and vast, Into their land that teemed with grain and gold, Were richly laden. Thus they bought and sold, Exchanging corn and cattle, hides and honey For finest silks and linens, gems and money,-- Until, thru bargain-insight, skill and daring, They cornered all the fabrics used for wearing, And then proceeded, with discerning l.u.s.t, To hump themselves and form a Camel Trust.

The Traders who had plied this Cargo Route Could never, in their deals, get cash to boot From Jacob's sons. Sometimes a fleece or skin, Of little size and worth, would be thrown in, But shekels--No! And so the nomad Sheik In quest of easy picking; Turk and Greek; The wily Fellah from the distant Nile Whose gaudy gewgaw "gems" reflect his guile; The sleepy Peddlers from the Land of Nod, Who still shekinah on ancestral sod; And all the Wise Men from the Eastern marts Who plan their ventures by the Astral charts, Plotted and vowed, by Imps and Endor Witches, To wrest from Jacobs Brothers all their riches.

So, working now with Bulls, anon with Bears; Rigging the market to advance their wares Or to depress the House of Jacobs' shares, It looked as if the plotters might make good Against the unsuspecting Brotherhood.

But patiently the Brethren stood their ground, Unmindful of the rumors pa.s.sed around, Or baits to tempt Cupidity thrown out, That throttle Judgment and put Sense to rout,-- Until the market, unsupported, broke: Then, feigning sleep, they suddenly awoke And took possession of the Stock Exchange.

Like beaten curs or mongrels with the mange The Plotters cringed. The _Shorts_ in wild dismay To cover ran, but Zounds! they had to pay Four prices to the Brethren who controlled The entire issue of the short stock sold.

And thus the Brethren made a tidy sum, Keeping their standing in Financialdom.

Keen businessmen, they sold or bought as well, But never showed _anxiety_ to sell.

So Jacob's Sons became, as was their bent, The mighty Merchants of the Orient.

No goose that ever layed a golden egg Would needs have come to one of them to beg For life or respite. "Nay! Lay on, Good Goose!

We'll shield thee and thy gander from abuse!"

Long-headed and kind-hearted, in such cases Their noses were not lopped to spite their faces.

Too wise they were: they had too good a teacher To make the nose too prominent a feature!

While yet the goose was itching for the nest They egged her on and Quack! she did the rest.