Classic Poem

AN Ant, ere summer days were o'er
Wisely providing future store,
As home the precious load she took,
A Wasp observ'd with scornful look.
" Poor vulgar wretch, " the latter cries,
" Alas! what toil thy life supplies!
" But still I pity thee in vain;
" Wilt thou from labour ne'er refrain? "
" How should I else subsist? " ask'd she.
" Twas pertly answer'd, " Live like me;
" I feed on honey every hour,
" Yet never sip it from the flow'r;
" No; from the bees I take at will;
" Come how it may, 'tis honey still.
" And sure my time is best employ'd,
" When without labour 'tis enjoy'd. "
Just then a swarm of wasps he sees,
Hast'ning to rob a hive of bees;
Without delay he joins the throng,
That pass with ill intent along.
A war ensues: his friends are beat,
And seek their safety in retreat.
The Ant her well-earn'd stock secures,
Which through long wintry days endures;
No theft her ample store supplies,
Honest she lives, and peaceful dies.