SONG V.

The Ant or Emmet.

THESE Emmets how little they are in our

Eyes!

We tread them to Duft, and a Troop of them dies,

Without our Regard or Concern; Yet, wife as we are, if we went to their School,

There's many a Sluggard, and many a Fool,

Some Leffons of Wisdom might learn.

They don't wear their Time out in fleeping or play,

But gather up Corn in a fun-shiny Day, And for Winter they lay up their

Stores :

They manage their Work in fuch regular

One would think they forefaw all the
Frofts and the Storms,

And fo brought their Food within
Doors.

But I have lefs Senfe than a poor creeping

Ant,

If I take not due Care for the Things I fhall want,

Nor provide against Dangers in Time. When Death or old Age fhall stare in my

Face,

What a Wretch fhall I be at the End of my Days,

If I trifle away all their prime!

Now, now, while my ftrength and my Youth are in bloom,

Let me think what will ferve me when Sickness fhall come,

And pray that my Sins be forgiv'n: Let me read in good Books, and believe, and obey,

That when Death turns me out of this Cottage of Clay,

I may dwell in a Palace in Heav'n.

f

SONG VI.

Good Refolution.

THO' I am now in younger Days
Nor can tell what shall befal me,
I'll prepare for ev'ry Place,

Where my growing age fhall call me.

Should I e'er be rich or great,

Others fhall partake my Goodness;
I'll fupply the Poor with Meat,
Never fhewing Scorn or Rudenefs.
Where I fee the blind or lame,

Deaf or dumb, I'll kindly treat them; I deferve to feel the fame

If I mock, or hurt, or cheat them.

If I meet with railing Tongues,
Why fhould I return them railing,

Since I beft revenge my Wrongs
By my Patience never failing?

When I hear them telling Lies,
Talking foolish, curfing, fwearing;
First I'll try to make them wife,
Or I'll foon go out of hearing.

What tho' I be low and mean,

I'll engage the Rich to love me, While I'm modeft, neat, and clean, And fubmit when they reprove me.

If I fhould be poor and fick,

I fhall meet, I hope with Pity, Since i love to help the weak, Tho' they're neither fair nor witty.

I'll not willingly offend

Nor be eafily offended;

What's amifs I'll ftrive to mend,

And endure what can't be mended.

May I be fo watchful still

O'er my Humours and my Paffion,

As to fpeak and do no ill,

Tho' it fhould be all the Fashion.

Wicked Fashions lead to Hell;
Never may I be complying;

But in Life behave fo well,
Not to be afraid of dying.

D

SONG VII.

A Summer Evening.

How fine has the Day been, how bright was the Sun,

How lovely and joyful the Course that

he run,

Tho' he rofe in a Mift when his Race he

begun,

And there follow'd fome Droppings of

Rain!

But now the fair Traveller's come to the

Weft,

His Rays are all Gold, and his Beauties are beft;

He paints the Sky gay as he finks to his

Reft,

And foretels a bright rifing again.