Poems Sigourney 1827/To a Wasp

by Lydia Sigourney

TO A WASP.

    Bless me, kind friend!—who canst thou wish to see?
        Thus climbing onward with untiring labor,
    A deal of friendship thou must have for me,
        To take such wondrous pains, obliging neighbour,

What may thy business be, a formal call?
Then take a chair and sit, as if thou 'dst none at all.

    Be amiable, I pray thee now, sweet guest!
        I would not harm thee, that were sport unkind,
    Thou cam'st, Sir Wasp, like knight with lance in rest,
        Hoping perchance, some tournament to find,
But yet I mean not thou my veins shalt probe,
So find some other tilt-yard, prithee, than my robe.

    Thou giv'st a warrior's warning, bold and fair,
        Like Ajax valiant, or Achilles proud,
    Thou lay'st no ambush, no deceitful snare,
        But sound'st thy tiny trumpet long and loud,
Through which, a moral lesson thou art teaching
Backbiters and false friends.—Would that they heeded preaching!

    Who knows but what among thy kindred brood
        Some leech thou art, of credit and renown,
    And so thou com'st, forsooth, to let me blood!—
        Haste—leave my arm, or I must help thee down!
I 've fear'd the doctors marvellously, ever
Since they gave brandy in the spotted fever.—

    Mayhap I do misconstrue thee.—Well! well—
        The best are fallible,—and I will strive
    If but thy hidden virtues thou wilt tell,
        To be as just as any one alive;—
I would not, even fly or flea should say,
I took their reputations wilfully away.—

    Dost thou make honey? Sure! I had not thought it,
        Such beverage must be exceeding rare,
    I trow the critic gentry may have bought it,
        To neutralize their very acid fare.—

Some cordial they must need, who toil so hard
To pickle and to hack each poor adventurous bard.—

    I 've read in school-boy days,—thy cousin bees,
        (Mauger the din of warming-pans and matrons)
    Would swarm around the lips of Sophocles
        Mistaking the sweet muses for their patrons;
But thou, more wise, dost better things secure,
Trucking thy surplus wares with some well-paid Reviewer.

    Good bye!—but why that angry hiss? I pray,
        Go vent in thy own nest, thy heighten'd spleen,
    Upon thy wife and babies, that 's the way,
        It breaks the dulness of too tame a scene,
But if they chance to sting, as well as thee,
Thou 'lt need the stock of venom thou hast spared from me.

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