a dove came to a brook to drink,

when, leaning o'er its crumbling brink,

an ant fell in, and vainly tried,

in this, to her, an ocean tide,

to reach the land; whereat the dove,

with every living thing in love,

was prompt a spire of grass to throw her,

by which the ant regained the shore.

a barefoot scamp, both mean and sly,

soon after chanced this dove to spy;

and, being arm'd with bow and arrow,

the hungry codger doubted not

the bird of venus, in his pot,

would make a soup before the morrow.

just as his deadly bow he drew,

our ant just bit his heel.

roused by the villain's squeal,

the dove took timely hint, and flew

far from the rascal's coop—

and with her flew his soup.