The Queen Bee's Fete. 



71 



Their homes they cannot find — alas! 

 They tumble backward on the grass. 

 "To whit" "To whoo" policeman Owl, 

 The wisest of all feathered fowl, 

 Hoots out; "why here's a precious go," 

 "Drunk and incapable, ho ! ho !" 



"So come along, I know you well;" — 

 He said, and drove them to his cell. 

 Were they discharged? No, never more, 

 That cell it was an abattoir. 

 The owl supped on the elder Brother, 

 And for his breakfast ate the other. 

 So you, who think a dance divine. 

 Mind — never take excess of wine. 



