A Merry Grasshopper, that sung
And tun'd it all the Summer long,
Fed on small Flies, and had no Reason
To have sad thoughts the gentler Season;
For when 'twas hot the Wind at South,
The Victuals flew into his Mouth:
But when the Winters cold came on,
He found he was as much undone,
As any Insect under Heav'n;
And now the hungry Songster's driv'n
To such a state, no Man can know it,
But a Musician or a Poet,
He makes a Visit to an Ant,
Desires he would relieve his want;
I come not in a begging way, }
Says he, No Sir, name but a day }
In July next, and I'll repay, }
Your Interest and your Principal
Shall both be ready at a Call.
The thrifty Ant says truly Neighbour,
I get my Living by hard Labour;
But you, that in this Storm came hither,
What have you done when 'twas fair Weather?
I've sung, replies the Grasshopper;
Sung! says the Ant, your Servant, Sir;
If you have sung away the best
Of all the Year, go dance the rest.