THE Grasshopper that through the Summer heat Her cymbals beat, Found her bare board without a crumb And the chill wynd of Winter come. Not one tiny shred of fly Nor of earth-worm could she spy. Off she went her plight bewailing To the Ant beyond the railing, Begging food enough to save Her shrivell'd body from the grave Till the boughs again were shady. "I'll repay," pronounced my Lady, "Ere hot August come, your loan With the interest due thereon." Now the Ant likes not to lend, (A small fault wherein she strayes), "How fared you in your Summer dayes?" Said she to her needy friend. "Unto all, sun high or setting, I did sing, save your displeasure."— "Did you then? I'm glad you'd leisure! Well, now start your pirouetting." |