The joyful season time shall bring,
He bears it on his rapid wing.
An age there is, when all our kind,
Disdain the ground, and mount the wind:
And should thy friend this age attain—”
With haste the worm reply’d again,
“Say what assurance canst thou give,
That I with birds a bird shall live?
For could I trust thy pleasing tale,
No wanton wish should e’er prevail;