 | Lucasta |  |
The Ant.
1
Forbear thou great good Husband, little AntA little respite from thy flood of sweat;
Thou, thine own Horse and Cart under this Plan
Thy spacious tent, fan thy prodigious heat;
Down with thy double load of that one grain;
It is a Granarie for all thy Train.
2
Cease large example of wise thrift a while,(For thy example is become our Law)
And teach thy frowns a seasonable smile:
So Cato sometimes the nak'd Florals saw.
14
Whilst thy unpay'd Musicians, Crickets, sing.
3
Lucasta, She that holy makes the Day,And 'stills new Life in fields of Fueillemort:
Hath back restor'd their Verdure with one Ray,
And with her Eye bid all to play and sport,
Ant to work still; Age will Thee Truant call;
And to save now, th'art worse than prodigal.
4
Austere and Cynick! not one hour t'allow,To lose with pleasure what thou gotst with pain;
But drive on sacred Festivals, thy Plow;
Tearing high-ways with thy ore charged Wain.
Not all thy life time one poor Minute live,
And thy o're labour'd Bulk with mirth relieve?
5
Look up then miserable Ant, and spieThy fatal foes, for breaking of her Law:
Hov'ring above thee, Madam, Margaret Pie,
And her fierce Servant, Meagre, Sir John Daw:
Thy Self and Storehouse now they do store up,
And thy whole Harvest too within their Crop.
6
Thus we untrifty thrive within Earths Tomb,For some more rav'nous and ambitious Jaw:
The Grain in th'Ants, the Ants in the Pies womb,
The Pie in th'Hawks, the Hawks ith'Eagles maw:
So scattering to hord 'gainst a long Day,
Thinking to save all, we cast all away.
| Lucasta | |