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Mary Darby Robinson - The Bee and the Butterfly
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UPON a garden`s perfum`d bed 
With various gaudy colours spread, 
Beneath the shelter of a ROSE 
A BUTTERFLY had sought repose; 
Faint, with the sultry beams of day, 
Supine the beauteous insect lay. 

  A BEE, impatient to devour
The nectar sweets of ev`ry flow`r, 
Returning to her golden store, 
A weight of fragrant treasure bore; 
With envious eye, she mark`d the shade, 
Where the poor BUTTERFLY was laid, 
And resting on the bending spray, 
Thus murmur`d forth her drony lay:­ 

  "Thou empty thing, whose merit lies 
In the vain boast of orient dies; 
Whose glittering form the slightest breath 
Robs of its gloss, and fades to death; 
Who idly rov`st the summer day, 
Flutt`ring a transient life away, 
Unmindful of the chilling hour, 
The nipping frost, the drenching show`r; 
Who heedless of "to-morrow`s fare," 
Mak`st present bliss thy only care; 
Is it for THEE, the damask ROSE 
With such transcendent lustre glows? 
Is it for such a giddy thing 
Nature unveils the blushing spring? 
Hence, from thy lurking place, and know, 
`Tis not for THEE her beauties glow." 

  The BUTTERFLY, with decent pride, 
In gentle accents, thus reply`d: 
"`Tis true, I flutter life away 
In pastime, innocent and gay; 
The SUN that decks the blushing spring 
Gives lustre to my painted wing; 
`Tis NATURE bids each colour vie, 
With rainbow tints of varying die; 
I boast no skill, no subtle pow`r 
To steal the balm from ev`ry flow`r; 
The ROSE, that only shelter`d ME, 
Has pour`d a load of sweets on THEE; 
Of merit we have both our share, 
Heav`n gave thee ART, and made me FAIR; 
And tho` thy cunning can despise 
The humble worth of harmless flies; 
Remember, envious, busy thing, 
Thy honey`d form conceals a sting; 
Enjoy thy garden, while I rove 
The sunny hill, the woodbine grove, 
And far remov`d from care and THEE, 
Embrace my humble destiny; 
While in some lone sequester`d bow`r, 
I`ll live content beyond thy pow`r;
For where ILL-NATURE holds her reign 
TASTE, WORTH, and BEAUTY, plead in vain; 
E`en GENIUS must to PRIDE submit 
When ENVY wings the shaft of WIT.
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