Bees

King Henry the Sixth, part I, [1.5.19-26]. Talbot. My thoughts are whirled like a potter’s wheel;/ I know not where I am, nor what I do,/ A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal,/ Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists./ So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench/ Are from their hives and houses driven away./ They call’d us, for our fierceness, English dogs;/ Now, like to whelps, we crying run away.”