I'm a busy active creature,
Fashioned with a sportive nature,
I nimbly skip from tree to tree,
Under a well-wrought canopy;
And for cleanliness and air,
Am a pattern to the fair;
I, to arms and blood a stranger,
Apprehensive of no danger,
Like the ant, for winter store,
Searching, treasures to explore,
All on a sudden hear the foe,
The cause and object of my woe
By whom I'm soon a prisoner made
Chain'd, and in a dungeon laid:
Bid Chloe then, and Myra tell,
What's my name and where I dwell.
The Squirrel.
My body is light, my head is white,
With a cord I am laced around,
I am beaten with sticks, yet not for bad tricks,
But to animate my sound.
The unthinking youth, who heed not the truth
Which would save them from every alarm,
To fight, kill, and die, and cause much misery
To those who have done them no harm.