A Merry Grasshopper, that sung And tun'd it all the Summer long, Fed on small Flies, and had no Reason To have sad thoughts the gentler Season; For when 'twas hot the Wind at South, The Victuals flew into his Mouth: But when the Winters cold came on, He found he was as much undone, As any Insect under Heav'n; And now the hungry Songster's driv'n To such a state, no Man can know it, But a Musician or a Poet, He makes a Visit to an Ant, Desires he would relieve his want; I come not in a begging way, } Says he, No Sir, name but a day } In _July_ next, and I'll repay, } Your Interest and your Principal Shall both be ready at a Call. The thrifty Ant says truly Neighbour, I get my Living by hard Labour; But you, that in this Storm came hither, What have you done when 'twas fair Weather? I've sung, replies the Grasshopper; Sung! says the Ant, your Servant, Sir; If you have sung away the best Of all the Year, go dance the rest. _The Milk Woman._ A Straping Dame, a going to Town To sell her Milk with thin Stuff Gown, And Coats tuck'd up fit for a Race, Marches along a swinging Pace: And in her Thoughts already counts The Price to which her Milk amounts; She fancies all is sold, and lays The Money out a hundred ways; At last she's fix'd, and thinks it plain, That Eggs would bring the surest Gain: She buys a hundred, which she reckons Will four Weeks hence be six Score Chickens. Such mighty care she takes to rear 'em, No Fox or Kite can e'er come near 'em, The finest Hens are kept for Eggs; The others sold to buy some Piggs; To whom a little Bran she gives With Turnep-tops and Cabbage leaves; And tho' they get no Pease to speak on, Yet in short time they're sold for Bacon. O! how the Money pleas'd her Thought For which a Cow and Calf are bought; She'll have 'em on the Common kept, There see 'em jump, at that she leapt For joy; down comes the Pail, and now Good Night t'ye Chickens, Calf and Cow, Eggs, Bacon; all her busy care, With them are dwindled into Air. She looks with Sorrow on the Ground, And Milk, in which her Fortune's drown'd: Then carries home the doleful News, And strives to make the best Excuse: Her Husband greets her with a Curse, And well it was she far'd no worse. The Hermit, and the Man of Fame, _Pompeus_, and our Country Dame, The wisest Judge, and my Lord May'r, They all build Castles in the Air: And all a secret Pleasure take In dreaming whilst they are awake: Pleas'd with our Fancies we possess Friends, Honour, Women, Palaces. When I'm alone I dare defy Mankind for Wit and Bravery. I beat the _French_ in half an Hour, Get all their Cities in my Power. Sometimes I'm pleas'd to be a King, That has success in every thing, And just when all the World's my own, Comes one to dun me for a Crown;