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.”

    VII.

    “In hoarding up riches you’re wasting your time;
    And—­pray, sir, excuse me—­such waste is a crime. 
    And then to be guilty of avarice, too! 
    Alas! how I pity such sinners as you!”

    VIII.

    Strange, strange that the Bee was so stupid and blind;
    “Amen!” he exclaimed, “you have spoken my mind;
    I’ve been very wicked, I know it, I feel it;
    The bees have no right to their honey—­they steal it.

    IX.

    “But how in the world shall I manage to live? 
    Should I beg of my friends, not a mite would they give;
    ’Tis easy enough to be idle and sing,
    But living on air is a different thing.”

    X.

    Our Spider was silent, and looked very grave—­
    ’Twas a habit he had, the cunning old knave! 
    No Spider, pursuing his labor of love,
    Had more of the serpent, or less of the dove.

    XI.

    At length, “I believe I have hit it,” said he;
    “Walk into my palace, and tarry with me. 
    We spiders know nothing of labor and care;
    Come in; you are welcome our bounty to share.

    XII.

    “I live like a king, and my wife like a queen;
    We wander where flowers are blooming and green,
    And then on the breast of the lily we lie,
    And list to the stream running merrily by.

    XIII.

    “With us you shall mingle in scenes of delight,
    All summer, all winter, from morn until night,
    And when ’neath the hills sinks the sun in the west,
    Your head on a pillow of roses shall rest.

    XIV.

    “When miserly bees shall return from their toils”—­
    He winked as he said it—­“we’ll feast on the spoils;
    I’ll lighten their loads”—­said the Bee, “So will I.” 
    And the Spider said, “Well, if you live, you may try.”

    XV.

    The Bee did not wait to be urged any more,
    But nodded his thanks, as he entered the door. 
    “Aha!” said the Spider, “I have you at last!”
    And he seized the poor fellow, and tied him up fast.

    XVI.