Was trotting, with consequence, over the plain,
A worm, in his progress remarkably slow,
Cried--"Bless your good worship wherever you go;
I hope your great mightiness won't take it ill,
I pay my respects with a hearty good-will."
With a look of contempt, and impertinent pride,
"Begone, you vile reptile," his antship replied;
"Go--go, and lament your contemptible state,
But first--look at me--see my limbs how complete;
I guide all my motions with freedom and ease,
Run backward and forward, and turn when I please;
Of nature (grown weary) you shocking essay!
I spurn you thus from me--crawl out of my way."
The reptile, insulted and vex'd to the soul,
Crept onwards, and hid himself close in his hole;
But nature, determined to end his distress,
Soon sent him abroad in a butterfly's dress.
Erelong the proud ant, as repassing the road,
(Fatigued from the harvest, and tugging his load),
The beau on a violet-bank he beheld,
Whose vesture, in glory, a monarch's excelled;
His plumage expanded--'twas rare to behold
So lovely a mixture of purple and gold.
The ant, quite amazed at a figure so gay,
Bow'd low with respect, and was trudging away.
"Stop, friend," says the butterfly; "don't be surprised,
I once was the reptile you spurn'd and despised;
But now I can mount, in the sunbeams I play,
While you must for ever drudge on in your way."