FABLE OF THE CIGALE AND THE ANT 15 



More apt thy face to tickle, toe to tread, 



Or nose to pinch, and then to run 

 Under the shade thine ample belly spread; 



Or climb thy leg for ladder ; sun 

 Herself audacious on thy wings, and go 

 Most insolently o'er thee to and fro. 



II. 



Now comes a tale that no one should believe. 



In other times, the ancients say. 

 The winter came, and hunger made thee grieve. 



Thou didst in secret see one day 

 The ant below the ground her treasure store away. 



The wealthy ant was drying in the sun 



Her corn the dew had wet by night, 

 Ere storing it again ; and one by one 



She filled her sacks as it dried aright. 

 Thou earnest then, and tears bedimmed thy sight, 



Sajang : " 'Tis very cold ; the bitter bise 



Blows me this way and that to-day. 

 I die of hunger. Of your riches please 



Fill me my bag, and I'll repay, 

 Vhen summer and its melons come this way. 



" Lend me a little corn." Go to, go to ! 



Think you the ant will lend an ear ? 

 You are deceived. Great sacks, but nought tor you ! 



'* Be off, and scrape some barrel clear ! 

 You sing of summer : starve, for winter's here I " 



'Tis thus the ancient fable sings 



To teach us all the prudence ripe 

 Of farthing-snatchers, glad to knot the strings 



That tie their purses. May the gripe 

 Of colic twist the guts of all such tripe ! 



