BOOK FOUR. 103 Whene'er the people that adore thee May immolate for thee a bullock, I 'm sure to taste the meat before thee. Meanwhile this starveling, in her hillock, Is living on some bit of straw Which she has laboured home to draw. But tell me now, my little thing, Do you camp ever on a king, An emperor, or lady? I do, and have full many a play-day On fairest bosom of the fair. And sport myself upon her hair. Come now, my hearty, rack your brain To make a case about your grain.' ' Well, have you done ? ' replied the ant.
- You enter palaces, I grant,
And for it get right soundly cursed. Of sacrifices, rich and fat, Your taste, quite likely, is the first : Are they the better off for that? You enter with the holy train : So enters many a wretch profane. On heads of kings and asses you may squat : Deny your vaunting I will not : But well such impudence, I know, Provokes a sometimes fatal blow. The name in which your vanity delights Is owned as well by parasites,
