Studious to husband every hour,
And make the most of every flow'r.
Nimble from ftalk to ftalk fhe flies,
And loads with yellow wax her thighs;
With which the artist builds her comb,
And keeps all tight and warm at home;
Or from the cowflip's golden bells
Sucks honey to enrich her cells:
Or every tempting rose pursues,
Or fips the lilly's fragrant dews;
Yet never robs the shining bloom,
Or of its beauty or perfume.
Thus fhe discharg❜d in every way
The various duties of the day.
It chanc'd a frugal Ant was near,
Whose brow was wrinkled o'er by care:
A great œconomist was she,
Nor less laborious than the Bee;
By penfive parents often taught
What ills arise from want of thought;
That poverty on floth depends,
On poverty the lofs of friends.
Hence every day the Ant is found
With anxious fteps to tread the ground;
With curious fearch to trace the grain,
And drag the heavy load with pain.
The active Bee with pleasure faw
The Ant fulfil her parents' law.
Ah! fifter-labourer, fays fhe,
How very fortunate are we!
Who taught in infancy to know
The comforts, which from labour flow,
Are independent of the great,
Nor know the wants of pride and state.
Why is our food fo very sweet?
Because we earn, before we eat.
Why are our wants fo very few?
Because we nature's calls pursue.
Whence our complacency of mind?
Because we act our parts affign'd.
Have we inceffant tasks to do?
Is not all nature bufy too!
Doth not the fun with conftant pace
Perfift to run his annual race?
Do not the stars, which fhine fo bright,
Renew their courses every night?
Doth not the ox obedient bow
His patient neck, and draw the plough?
Or when did e'er the generous fteed
Withhold his labour or his speed?
If you all nature's system scan,
The only idle thing is man!
A wanton Sparrow long'd to hear
Their fage discourse, and strait drew near.
The bird was talkative and loud,
As worthless and as vain a thing,
Perhaps as ever wore a wing.
She found, as on a spray she fat,
The little friends were deep in chat;
That virtue was their favourite theme,
And toil and probity their scheme :
Such talk was hateful to her breast,
She thought them arrant prudes at beft.
When to display her naughty mind,
Hunger with cruelty combin'd;
She view'd the Ant with savage eyes,
And hopt and hopt to fnatch her prize.
The Bee, who watch'd her opening bill,
And guefs'd her fell defign to kill;
Afk'd her from what her anger rofe,
And why the treated Ants as foes?
The Sparrow her reply began,
And thus the converfation ran.
Whenever I'm dispos'd to dine,
I think the whole creation mine;
That I'm a bird of high degree,
And every infect made for me.
Hence oft I fearch the emmet brood,
For emmets are delicious food:
And oft in wantonnefs and play,
I flay ten thousand in a day.
For truth it is, without disguise,
That I love mifchief as my eyes.
Oh! fie, the honest Bee reply'd,
I fear you make base man your guide;
Of every creature fure the worst,
Tho' in creation's scale the first !
Ungrateful man! 'tis ftrange he thrives,
Who burns the Bees, to rob their hives!
I hate his vile administration,
And fo do all the emmet nation.
What fatal foes to birds are men
Quite to the Eagle from the Wren!
Oh! do not men's example take,
Who mischief do for mischief's fake ;
But fpare the Ant-her worth demands
Efteem and friendship at your hands.
A mind with every virtue bleft,
Muft raise compaflion in your breast.
Virtue! rejoin'd the sneering bird,
Where did you learn that gothic word ?
Since I was hatch'd, I never heard,
That virtue was at all rever'd.
But say it was the ancients' claim,
Yet moderns difavow the name;
Unless, my dear, you read romances,
I cannot reconcile your fancies.
Virtue in fairy tales is feen
To play the goddess or the queen;
But what's a queen without the pow'r,
Or beauty, child, without a dow'r?
Yet this is all that virtue brags,
At beft 'tis only worth in rags.
Such whims my very heart derides,
Indeed you make me burft my
Truft me Mifs Bee-to speak the truth,
I've copyed men from earlieft youth;
The fame our tafte, the fame our school,
Paffion and appetite our rule.
And call me bird, or call me finner,
I'll ne'er forego my sport or dinner.
A prowling cat the miscreant spies,
And wide expands her amber eyes :
Near and more near Grimalkin draws,
She wags her tail, protends her paws;
Then springing on her thoughtless prey,
She bore the vicious bird away.
Thus in her cruelty and pride, The wicked wanton Sparrow dy'd.
ITH gallant pomp, and beauteous pride
The floating pile in harbour rode,
Proud of her freight, the fwelling tide
Reluctant left the veffel's fide,
And rais'd it as fhe flow'd.
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