The Ant and the Cricket
A silly young cricket accustomed to sing
Through the warm summer months of gay summer and spring
Began to complain when he found that at home
His cupboard was empty and winter had come,
Not a flower could he see, not a leaf on a tree
'So what will become', said the cricket, 'of me?'
At last by starvation and famine made bold
All dripping with wet and all trembling with cold
Away he set off to a miserly ant
To see if to keep him alive he would grant
In shelter from rain, a mouthful of grain
He wished only to borrow, he'd repay it tomorrow
If not he must die of starvation and sorrow!
'And tell me, Dear Sir, did you nothing lay by
When the weather was warm?' Said the cricket, 'Not I!
My heart was so light that I sang day and night
For all nature looks gay.' --- 'You sang, Sir, you say!
Go then,' said the ant, 'and dance winter away!'
Said the ant to the cricket; 'I'm your servant and friend
But we ants never borrow, we ants never lend!'