The Bee's Bayonet (a Little Honey and a Little Sting). Edwin Alfred Watrous

      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.

      A goose she would appear to give so much

      To those who had—but Life is ever such.

      But Jacob's Sons like Isaac, sturdy Oak,

      Made no complaint but bore their golden yolk,

      And, thrifty men, in many baskets stored

      The golden ovals and increased their hoard.

      And so their nests were feathered, as we know,

      But cautious men they were, who didn't crow.

      And so we see them on the filmy screens,

      Matching their talents 'gainst the Philistines:

      And looking close, we notice that the Brothers

      Have bigger stacks before them than the others.

      And then there's Job, the Paradox, who toils

      To show good humor when beset by boils;

      And Jinxy Jonah, ducked and rudely whaled,

      Because he had no passport when he sailed.

      (Whene'er I see the Ocean Mammal spout

      Methinks it's habit—spewing Jonah out.)

      Delilah's "next"! Tonsorial Adept—

      A cutting up while headstrong Samson slept.

      Shear nonsense—that man's vigor could be sapped

      Because he had a haircut when he napped,

      Or lose his nerve, e'en at the yawning grave,

      Tho' just escaping by the closest shave.

      With Samson's case a multitude compare,

      For men miss greatness ofttimes by a hair.

      'Twas his conceit that made him lose his nerve,

      As long-haired, whiskered men, bereft, deserve.

      The facts are these: that Samson used to wear

      A wig with ringlets, 'cause his head was bare.

      One night, in playful mood, Delilah stole

      Up to his cot and touched the poor old soul

      For his toupee. He woke, chagrined, and fled

      Because his capillary roots were dead.

      What transformation! Thus the Man of Might

      Became a pussyfooter overnight,

      And went to writing verses from that minute

      Finding his strength, not on his head, but in it.

      Of all your rulers, Roman, Jew or Fezzer,

      The first or most pronounced is Nebu'nezzar.

      (Too long this monstrous name has been derided,

      And so the chad, for rhythm, is elided.)

      "Neb" is enough, for short, and apropos

      Of Shadrach, Meshack and Abednego,

      The King waxed wroth because these three live wires

      Passed thru his melting pots and furnace fires

      Without a burn: remarkable endurance!

      Because protected by good Fire Insurance.

      He paid the price for arson ere he died,

      Was kept lit up and rightly classified

      Among the beasts: and now that all is over

      'Tis safe to say he did not live in clover,

      But roamed the pastures, when he lost his pull,

      And grazed himself to death: he was some bull.

      Then next we come to Ruth, the Moabite:

      Her husband Chilion (not her!) one night

      Blew out the gas, and Ruth was thus bereft;

      But Naomi, her Ma-in-Law, was left

      To comfort her: and jolly well she did it!

      For Ruth's great grief soon ceased or else she hid it.

      Then to Naomi's Land the two repaired,

      Their love enhanced by sorrows they had shared.

      And so the elder of the widowed twain

      Set out to find, for Ruth, another swain;

      And all her schemes, 'tis said, succeeded so as

      To marry Ruth to wealthy kinsman Boaz.

      Unselfish? No! She was too old to wed,

      So Ruth agreed to give her board and bed,

      Trusting to Boaz not to spoil her plan

      Who swallowed hook and line like any man.

      The attic room, or one just off the hall,

      Was where Naomi nightly had to crawl;

      And all her meals, unleavened bread and 'taters,

      Were eaten in the kitchen with the waiters,—

      For Boaz, when the honeymoon was