Fable: Of the Aunt and the Grashopper

THe Grashopper, the merriest Creature
That ever was produc'd by Nature:
Whilst Summer lasted ev'ry day,
Did nought but eat and sing and play.
When Winter came, and Heav'n look'd lowring,
And Boreas thro the World ran scowring.
Grashopper saw her pleasure past,
Her banquet's gone, and she must fast.
Nature, wh' had serv'd, had ta'n away,
She now can neither sing nor play.
Nothing that's edible is at home,
No not a Fly, a Mite, an Atome.
Then she to neighbour Aunt does trudge,
A little sneaking Country drudge.
Gossip, I come t' implore thy' assistance,
And borrow something for subsistence:
Lend me at most but twenty grain,
I'll pay thee punctually again,
In August, Gossip, if not sooner,
As I an Insfect m of honour.
Lend! that's a case requires arguing;
Two words, good Gossip, to a bargain.
What! come to borrow of a Miser!
Gossip! I thought thou hadst been wiser.
Pray what might'st thou do all the Summer?
Do, Gossip? why to ev'ry comer
I day and night sung oh be joyful!
And hadst not thou a fine employ fool?
But hark ye me, the Proverb cries,
Neighbour be merry and be wise.
He who is forc'd to go a borrowing,
Neighbour, is forc'd to go a sorrowing.
Why, as you could till Winter sing,
I'saith you may go dan till Spring.

Moral.

WHo riots out Life's Summer and its Spring,
He feels in Age of want and scorn the Sting.
Not that from pleasure we the youg would fright,
For a young Stoic is a monstrous ight.
That wretch runs counter to what Heav'n designs;
To pleasure Heav'n and Nature Youth inclines.
Youth is from Age distinguish'd but by Ioy;
Which Youth still gives, and Age must still destroy.
Yet let short Ioys with moderate Cares be mix'd
Ioy will like Mercury die, if once 'tis fix'd.
Oft let it to returning Care give place,
Oft from thy Breast that Care let Pleasure chase.
So shall thy care nor anxious be nor long,
Whilst thy delight is lasting found and strong.
And thus deliciously you'l pass your Spring,
And yet provide for ills which Age must bring:
Who in his Youth is a perpetual Drudge,
That sordid Sot does his own Genius grudge.
He must provide for Fourscore Years he crys,
Then e're he has arriv'd to Fifty dyes;
His Gold bequeathing to the Ass, his Son,
That he may be more splendidly undone.
Do not the Grashopper for pattern take,
Nor yet the Pismire thy example make;
Whose foolish Drudgery, so unjustly fam'd,
Is like the St's, whom just before I blam'd.
She day and night does up for Winter lay,
Then e're the Fall, takes wings and flies away.