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!'