Fable II The Ant and the Grasshopper
’Twas that bleak season of the year,
In which no smiles, no charms appear;
Bare were the trees; the rivers froze;
The hills and mountains capt with snows;
When, lodging scarce and victuals scant,
A Grasshopper address’d an Ant:
And, in a supplicating tone,
Begg’d he would make her case his own.
“It was, indeed, a bitter task
To those who were unused to ask;
Yet she was forc’d the truth to say,
She had not broke her fast that day;
His worship, tho’, with plenty bless’d,
Knew how to pity the distress’d;
A grain of corn to her was gold,
And Heav’n would yield him fifty-fold.”
The Ant beheld her wretched plight,
Nor seem’d unfeeling at the sight;
Yet, still inquisitive to know
How she became reduc’d so low,
Asked her—we’ll e’en suppose in rhyme—
What she did all the summer time?
“In summer time, good sir,” said she,
“Ah! these were merry months with me!
I thought of nothing but delight,
And sung, Lord, help me! day and night:
Through yonder meadows did you pass,
You must have heard me in the grass.”
“Ah!” cry’d the Ant, and knit his brow—
“But ’tis enough I hear you now;
And, Madam Songstress, to be plain,
You seek my charity in vain:
What, shall th’ industrious yield his due
To thriftless vagabonds like you!
Some corn I have, but none to spare,
Next summer learn to take more care;
And in your frolic moods, remember,
July is follow’d by December.”