3 Fain would I know the reason Why the little ant, All the summer season, Layeth up provision On condition To know no winter's want; And how housewives, that are so good and painful, Do unto their husbands prove so good and gainful; And why the lazy drones to them do prove disdainful. Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go 1 4 Ships, ships, I will descry you Amidst the main; I will come and try you What you are protecting, And projecting, What's your end and aim. One goes abroad for merchandise and trading, Another stays to keep his country from invading, A third is coming home with rich wealth of lading. Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? 5 When I look before me, There I do behold There's none that sees or knows me; All the world's a-gadding, Running madding; None doth his station hold. He that is below envieth him that riseth, And he that is above, him that's below despiseth, So every man his plot and counter-plot deviseth. Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? 6 Look, look, what bustling Here I do espy; Each another jostling, Every one turmoiling, The other spoiling, As I did pass them by. One sitteth musing in a dumpish passion, Another hangs his head, because he's out of fashion, A third is fully bent on sport and recreation. Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? 7 Amidst the foamy ocean, Fain would I know What doth cause the motion, And returning In its journeying, And doth so seldom swerve! And how these little fishes that swim beneath salt water, Do never blind their eye; methinks it is a matter An inch above the reach of old Erra Pater! Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? 8 Fain would I be resolved How things are done; And where the bull was calved Of bloody Phalaris, And where the tailor is That works to the man i' the moon! Fain would I know how Cupid aims so rightly; And how these little fairies do dance and leap so lightly; And where fair Cynthia makes her ambles nightly. Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go! 9 In conceit like Phaeton, I'll mount Phoebus' chair; Having ne'er a hat on, All my hair a-burning In my journeying, Hurrying through the air. Fain would I hear his fiery horses neighing, And see how they on foamy bits are playing; All the stars and planets I will be surveying! Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?