"'Tis nothing but work, with all one's might--
'Tis nothing but work, from morning till night.
I wish I were dead, Mr. Spider; you know
I might as well die as to drag along so."


IV.

The Spider pretended to pity the Bee--
For a cunning old hypocrite spider was he--
"I'm sorry to see you so poorly," he said;
And he whispered his wife, "He will have to be bled."


V.

"'Tis true sir,"--the knave! every word is a lie--
"That rather than live so, 'twere better to die.
'Twere better to finish the thing, as you say,
Than to live till you're old, and die every day.


VI.

"The life that you lead, it may do very well
For the beaver's rude hut, or the honey bee's cell;
But it never would suit a gay fellow like me.
I love to be merry--I love to be free."