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Richard Lovelace - The Ant
Work rating: Low

I.

Forbear, thou great good husband, little ant; 
A little respite from thy flood of sweat! 
Thou, thine own horse and cart under this plant, 
Thy spacious tent, fan thy prodigious heat; 
Down with thy double load of that one grain! 
It is a granarie for all thy train.

II.

Cease, large example of wise thrift, awhile 
(For thy example is become our law), 
And teach thy frowns a seasonable smile: 
So Cato sometimes the nak`d Florals saw. 
And thou, almighty foe, lay by thy sting, 
Whilst thy unpay`d musicians, crickets, sing.

III.

Lucasta, she that holy makes the day, 
And `stills new life in fields of fueillemort, 
Hath back restor`d their verdure with one ray, 
And with her eye bid all to play and sport, 
Ant, to work still! age will thee truant call; 
And to save now, th`art worse than prodigal.

IV.

Austere and cynick! not one hour t` allow, 
To lose with pleasure, what thou gotst with pain; 
But drive on sacred festivals thy plow, 
Tearing high-ways with thy ore-charged wain. 
Not all thy life-time one poor minute live, 
And thy ore-labour`d bulk with mirth relieve?

V.

Look up then, miserable ant, and spie 
Thy fatal foes, for breaking of their law, 
Hov`ring above thee: Madam Margaret Pie: 
And her fierce servant, meagre Sir John Daw: 
Thy self and storehouse now they do store up, 
And thy whole harvest too within their crop.

VI.

Thus we unthrifty thrive within earth`s tomb 
For some more rav`nous and ambitious jaw: 
The grain in th` ant`s, the ant in the pie`s womb, 
The pie in th` hawk`s, the hawk ith` eagle`s maw. 
So scattering to hord `gainst a long day, 
Thinking to save all, we cast all away.
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