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
.