A _Bee_ that went over to the _Drones_.
To what End (says a _Bee_) should I Toil and Moil my self out of my
Life for a Poor Subsistence, when the _Drones_ that do nothing at all,
Live in as much Plenty every jot as I do? Upon this Thought, the _Bee_
Resolv’d after their Example to work no longer. The Master it seems
call’d her to Account for’t; the _Bee_ took Pet upon’t, and without any
more to do, went over to the _Drones Party_, where she pass’d the Summer
easily enough, and to her Satisfaction. But upon the Winter’s coming
on, when the _Drones_ were all Dispers’d into their several Holes, the
_Bee would_ fain have gone Home again; but the Cells of the Combs were
all Clos’d, so that there was no Entrance, and the Poor _Bee_ Starv’d to
Death betwixt Cold and Hunger.
The MORAL.
_It is all the Reason in the World, that every Man in what Station
soever, should Work in some sort or other for his Living. Nature her self
is always at Work; and a Prince has no more Prerogative to be Idle, then
a Beggar._