The Bee's Bayonet (a Little Honey and a Little Sting) Camouflage in Word Painting

To those who never heard my Songs before, And those who have, and want to nevermore, This Rhapsody, with all its pithy phrases, Has passed 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 outclassed, 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 circumstance; And what the Farmers get for mules and wheat Makes fortunes hitherto 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, pawn their crowns to me And, deathless, I enslave their progeny. Men famed for noble 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 smut 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 Japheth, 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 Shore 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 brass 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 consommé.

As Financiers the palm has been bestowed, In panegyric, melody and ode, On Jacob's sons. The caravans, that passed 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 lust, 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 passed 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. 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 spent, Tightened his purse-strings--wouldn't spend a cent! And Naomi as welcome was, I think, As hungry roaches in the kitchen sink. This is the only case,--I know no other! Where widowed wife abided husband's mother; Or, where a woman, in such circumstance, Would give her son's relict another chance.