The Fable of the Cicada and the Ant 



In corn-sacks of sufficient size ; 



Then didst thou sue with tearful eyes, 



Saying, " 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; 



23 



