Those must work who would prosper and thrive,
If I play, they would call me a sad idle bee—
And perhaps turn me out of the hive.
Stop! stop! little Ant—do not run off so fast,
Wait with me a little and play:
I hope I shall find a companion at last,
You are not so busy as they.
O no, little lady, I can’t stay with you,
We’re not made to play, but to labor:
I always have something or other to do,