"It is granted you."

"Many thanks, most potent one!" cried the Bee, running the new-gained
weapon in and out with much satisfaction.

Jupiter sternly cut short her thanks, and continued:

"In using this means of defense and offense you will imperil your own life,
for the sting shall remain in the wound it makes and you shall die from the
loss of it."

The Bee flew around for a moment, and then lit on the back of the god's
neck.

"You will kindly reconsider that last clause," she said, "or," in a very
meaning tone, "I die right here."

Jupiter felt a cold chill take its agitated way up his spinal column.

"All right," he said, hastily. "I don't want to be small about it. Have it
your own way. Only please get off my neck!"

The Bee went joyously back to earth, humming a song of praise.


IMMORAL:

How to play a cinch (Hoyle). "Put both feet on the encircled object.
Rosin the hands, take a long breath and _Pull_."