′Dymchurch Flit′, Puck of Pook′s Hill. Bees! Bees! Hark to your bees! "Hide from your neigbours as much as you please, But all that has happened, to us you must tell, Or else we will give you no honey to sell!" A maiden in her glory, Upon her wedding-day, Must tell her Bees the story, Or else they′ll fly away. Fly away, die away, Dwindle down and leave you! But if you don′t deceive your Bees, Your Bees will not deceive you. Marriage, birth or buryin′, News across the seas, All you′re sad or merry in, You must tell the Bees. Tell ′em coming in an′ out, Where the Fanners fan, ′Cause the Bees are just about As curious as a man! Don′t you wait where the trees are, When the lightnings play, Nor don′t you hate where Bees are, Or else they′ll pine away. Pine away, dwine away, Anything to leave you! But if you never grieve your Bees, Your Bees′ll never grieve you.