On what her industry had gain'd,
A Grasshopper some aid desir'd.
"What was his trade?" the Ant inquir'd.
"I've none," the Grasshopper replied;
I range the country far and wide,
Singing all day from door to door,
And have no time to form a store."
Shutting her granaries, says the Ant,
"No wonder, friend, you are in want;
He who all summer sings, may chance
In winter to be forc'd to dance."
To spend his time in idle song,
The thoughtless Grasshopper was wrong;
And not to give a small supply,
The Emmet mean and niggardly.
Source: Boothby - Avianus 12.
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