"See how I'm going to skip over your head,
And could o'er a thousand like you!
Ant, by your motion alone, I should judge
That Nature ordained you a slave and a drudge,
For ever and ever to keep on the trudge,
And always find something to do.

"Oh! there is nothing like having our day--
Taking our pleasure and ease while we may--
Bathing ourselves in the bright, mellow ray
That comes from the warm, golden sun!
Whilst I am up in the light and the air,
You, a sad picture of labor and care,
Still have some hard, heavy burden to bear,
And work that you never get done.

"I have an exercise healthful and good,
For tuning the nerves and digesting the food--
Graceful gymnastics for stirring the blood
Without the _gross purpose of use_
Ant, let me tell you 'tis not _a la mode_
To plod like a pilgrim, and carry a load,
Perverting the limbs that for grace were bestowed,
By such a plebeian abuse!

"While the whole world with provisions is filled,
Who would keep toiling and toiling, to build
And lay in a store for himself, till he's killed
With work that another might do?
Come! drop your budget, and just give a spring;