The Turkey And The Ant.

        We blame the mote that dims the eye
        Of other men, whose faults we spy;
        But we ignore the beam that lies
        With stronger strain in one's own eyes.

        A turkey, who grew dull at home,
        Resolved in the wild woods to roam;
        Wearied she was of barn-door food,
        Therefore she chuckled round her brood,
        And said, "My little ones, now follow;
        We'll go and dine in yonder hollow."
        They first upon an ant-hill fell -
        Myriads of negro-ants, pell-mell -
        "O gobble, gobble - here's a treat!
        Emmets are most delicious meat;
        Spare not, spare not. How blest were we,
        Could we here live from poulterers free!
        Accursèd man on turkeys preys,
        Christmas to us no holy-days;
        When with the oyster-sauce and chine
        We roast that aldermen may dine.
        They call us 'alderman in chains,'
        With sausages - the stupid swains!
        Ah! gluttony is sure the first
        Of all the seven sins - the worst!
        I'd choke mankind, had I the power,
        From peasant's hut to lordly bower."

        An ant, who on a neighbouring beech
        Had climbed the trunk beyond her reach,
        Thus said to her: "You turkey-hen,
        What right have you to rail on men?
        You nor compunction know nor feel,
        But gobble nations at a meal!"