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As Drones, oppressive Habitants of Hives, Owe to the Labour of the Bees their Lives, Whose Work is always with the Day begun, And never ends but with the sering Sun, From Flowr to Flowr they rove, and loaded Home Return, to build the white the waxen Comb, While lazy the luxurious Race remain Within, and of their Toils enjoy the Gain; So Woman, by the Thund’rer’s hard Decree, And wretched Man, are like the Drone and Bee.
— THOMAS COOKE (AUTHOR)