The Fable of the Cicada and the Ant 



In corn-sacks of sufficient size; 



Then didst thou sue with tearful eyes, 



Saj^ing, "Alas! This deadly breeze 

 '* Pursues me everywhere; I freeze 

 ** With hunger; let me fill (no more!) 

 " My wallet from that copious store ; 

 *' Next year, when melons are full-blown, 

 " Be sure I shall repay the loan! 



" Lend me a little corn! " — Absurd! 

 Of course she will not hear a word ; 

 Thou wilt not win, for all thy pain, 

 From bulging sacks a single grain. 

 " Be off and scrape the binns! " she cries: 

 " Who sang in June, in winter dies." 



Thus doth the ancient tail impart 



Fit moral for a miser's heart; 



Bids him all charity forget 



And draw his purse-strings tighter yet. 



May colic chase such scurvy knaves 



With pangs internal to their graves! 



A sorry fabulist, indeed. 

 Who fancied that the winter's need 

 Would drive thee to subsist, forlorn. 

 On Flies, on grubs, on grains of corn ; 

 No need was ever thine of those. 

 For whom the honied fountain flows. 



What matters winter ? All thy kin 

 • Beneath the earth are gathered in ; 



22 



