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! Accurs'd 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!"