The BEE , the ANT , and the SPARROW : A FABLE . Address'd to PHEBE and KITTY C. at Boarding School . MY dears , 'tis said in days of old , That beasts cou'd talk , and birds could scold . But now it seems the human race Alone engross the speaker's place . Yet lately , if report be true , ( And much the tale relates to you ) There met a Sparrow , Ant , and Bee , Which reason'd and convers'd as we . Who reads my page will doubtless grant That Phe's the wise industrious Ant . And all with half an eye may see That Kitty is the busy Bee . Here then are two — but where's the third ? Go search your school , you'll find the Bird . Your school ! I ask your pardon fair , I'm sure you'll find no Sparrow there . Now to my tale — One summer's morn A Bee rang'd o'er the verdant lawn ; Studious to husband every hour , And make the most of every flow'r . Nimble from stalk to stalk she flies , And loads with yellow wax her thighs ; With which the artist builds her comb , And keeps all tight and warm at home : Or from the cowslip's golden bells Sucks honey to enrich her cells : Or every tempting rose pursues , Or sips the lilly's fragrant dews ; Yet never robs the shining bloom , Or of its beauty or perfume . Thus she discharg'd in every way The various duties of the day . It chanc'd a frugal Ant was near , Whose brow was wrinkled o'er by care : A great oeconomist was she , Nor less laborious than the Bee ; By pensive parents often taught What ills arise from want of thought ; That poverty on sloth depends , On poverty the loss of friends . Hence every day the Ant is found With anxious steps to tread the ground ; With curious search to trace the grain , And drag the heavy load with pain . The active Bee with pleasure saw The Ant fulfil her parents' law . Ah ! sister-labourer , says she , How very fortunate are we ! Who taught in infancy to know The comforts , which from labour flow , Are independent of the great , Nor know the wants of pride and state . Why is our food so very sweet ? Because we earn , before we eat . Why are our wants so very few ? Because we nature's calls pursue . Whence our complacency of mind ? Because we act our parts assign'd . Have we incessant tasks to do ? Is not all nature busy too ! Doth not the sun with constant pace Persist to run his annual race ? Do not the stars , which shine so bright , Renew their courses every night ? Doth not the ox obedient bow His patient neck , and draw the plough ? Or when did e'er the generous steed Withhold his labour or his speed ? If you all nature's system scan , The only idle thing is man ! A wanton Sparrow long'd to hear Their sage discourse , and strait drew near . The bird was talkative and loud , And very pert and very proud ; As worthless and as vain a thing , Perhaps as ever wore a wing . She found , as on a spray she sat , The little friends were deep in chat ; That virtue was their favourite theme , And toil and probity their scheme : Such talk was hateful to her breast , She thought them arrant prudes at best . When to display her naughty mind , Hunger with cruelty combin'd ; She view'd the Ant with savage eyes , And hopt and hopt to snatch her prize . The Bee , who watch'd her opening bill , And guess'd her fell design to kill ; Ask'd her from what her anger rose , And why me treated Ants as foes ? The Sparrow her reply began , And thus the conversation ran . Whenever I'm dispos'd to dine , I think the whole creation mine ; That I'm a bird of high degree , And every insect made for me . Hence oft I search the emmet brood , For emmets are delicious food : And oft in wantonness and play , I slay ten thousand in a day . For truth it is , without disguise , That I love mischief as my eyes . Oh ! fie , the honest Bee reply'd , I fear you make base man your guide ; Of every creature sure the worst , Tho' in creation's scale the first ! Ungrateful man ! 'tis strange he thrives , Who burns the Bees , to rob their hives ! I hate his vile administration , And so do all the emmet nation . What fatal foes to birds are men Quite to the Eagle from the Wren ! Oh ! do not men's example take , Who mischief do for mischief's sake ; But spare the Ant — her worth demands Esteem and friendship at your hands . A mind with every virtue blest , Must raise compassion in your breast . Virtue ! rejoin'd the sneering bird , Where did you learn that gothic word ? Since I was hatch'd , I never heard , That virtue was at all rever'd . But say it was the ancients' claim , Yet moderns disavow the name ; Unless , my dear , you read romances , I cannot reconcile your fancies . Virtue in fairy tales is seen To play the goddess or the queen ; But what's a queen without the pow'r , Or beauty , child , without a dow'r ? Yet this is all that virtue brags , At best 'tis only worth in rags . Such whims my very heart derides , Indeed you make me burst my sides . Trust me Miss Bee — to speak the truth , I've copyed men from earliest youth ; The same our taste , the same our school , Passion and appetite our rule . And call me bird , or call me sinner , I'll ne'er forego my sport or dinner . A prowling cat the miscreant spies , And wide expands her amber eyes : Near and more near Grimalkin draws , She wags her tail , protends her paws ; Then springing on her thoughtless prey , She bore the vicious bird away . Thus in her cruelty and pride , The wicked wanton Sparrow dy'd .