The parliament of bees, with their proper characters. Or a bee-hive furnisht with twelve hony-combes, as pleasant as profitable Being an allegoricall description of the actions of good and bad men in these our daies. By John Daye, sometimes student of Caius Colledge in Cambridge.

The Booke to the Reader.

IN my commission I am charg'd to greet And mildly kisse the hands of all I meet, Which I must doe, or never more be seene About the Fount of sacred Hippocreene. Smooth sockt Thalia takes delight to dance Ith' Schooles of Art, the doore of ignorance Shee sets a Crosse on; Detractors shee doth scorne, Yet kneeles to Censure, (so it be true borne) I had rather fall into a Beadles hands That reads, and with his reading understands, Then some Plush-Midas, that can read no further But Bees? whose penning? mew, this man doth murther A writers credit and wrong'd poesie (Like a rich Diamond dropt into the Sea) Is by him lost for ever, quite through read me, Or 'mongst wast paper into Pastboard knead me, Presse me to death, so tho your churlish hands Rob me of life, Ile save my paper lands For my next heire, who with Poetick breath May in sad Elegie record my death. If so: I wish my Epitaph may be Onely three words, Opinion murdered me.

Liber Lectori Candido.