A Spendthrift, who had wasted his fortune, and had nothing left but the clothes in which he stood, saw a Swallow one fine day in early spring. Thinking that summer had come, and that he could now do without his coat, he went and sold it for what it would fetch. A change, however, took place in the weather, and there came a sharp frost which killed the unfortunate Swallow.

When the Spendthrift saw its dead body he cried, “Miserable bird! Thanks to you I am perishing of cold myself.”

One swallow does not a summer make.