THE SPIDER AND THE HONEY-BEE.

A FABLE FOR MANY IN GENERAL AND SOME IN PARTICULAR.

I.
A bee who had chased after pleasure all day,
And homeward was lazily wending his way,
Fell in with a Spider, who called to the Bee:
"Good evening! I trust you are well," said he.
II.
The bee was quite happy to stop awhile there—
For indolence always has moments to spare—
"Good evening!" he said, with a very low bow,
"My health, sir, alas! 'tis quite delicate now.
III.
"From spring until autumn, from morning till night,
I'm obliged to be toiling with all my might;
My labors are wearing me out, and you know
I might as well starve, as to kill myself so."
IV.
The Spider pretended to pity the Bee—
For a cunning old hypocrite Spider was he—
"I'm sorry to see you so ill," he said;
And he whispered his wife, "He will have to be bled."

"Some people—perhaps they are wiser than I—

Some people are in a great hurry to die;

Excuse me, but candor compels me to say,

'Tis wrong to be throwing one's life away.

VI.

"Your industry, sir, 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 idle—I love to be free.

VII.

"This hoarding of riches—this wasting of time,

In robbing the gardens and fields—'tis a crime!

And then to be guilty of suicide, too!

I tremble to think what a miser will do."

VIII.

'Tis strange the poor Bee was so stupid and blind.

"Mister Spider," said he, "you have spoken my mind;

There's something within me that seems to say,

I have toiled long enough, and 'tis better to play.

IX.

"But how in the world shall I manage to live?

I might beg all my life, and nobody would give.

'Tis easy enough to be merry and sing,

But living on air is a different thing."

The Spider was silent, and looked very grave—

'Twas a habit he had—the scheming old knave!

No Spider, intent on his labor of love,

Had more of the serpent, or less of the dove.

XI.

"To serve you would give me great pleasure," said he;

"Come into my palace, and tarry with me;

The Spider knows nothing of labor and care.

Come, you shall be welcome our bounty to share.

XII.

"I live like a king, and my wife like a queen,

In meadows where flowers are blooming and green;

'Tis sweet on the violet's bosom to lie,

And list to the stream that runs merrily by.

XIII.

"With us you shall mingle in scenes of delight,

All summer and winter, from morning till night;

And when 'neath the hills the sun sinks in the west,

Your head on a pillow of roses shall rest.

XIV.

"When miserly Bees shall return from their toils,

We'll catch them, and tie them, and feast on the spoils;

I'll lighten their burdens—I ought to know how—

My pantry is full of such gentlemen now."

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 caught the poor urchin, and wound him up fast.

XVI.

The Bee, when aware of his perilous fate,

Recovered his wit, though a moment too late.

"O treacherous Spider! for shame!" said he,

"Is it thus you betray a poor, innocent Bee?"

XVII.

The cunning old Spider then laughed outright;

"Poor fellow!" he said, "you are in a sad plight!

Ha! ha! what a dunce you must be to suppose,

That the heart of a Spider should pity your woes!

XVIII.

"I never could boast of much honor or shame,

Though a little acquainted with both by name;

But I think if the Bees can a brother betray,

We Spiders are quite as good people as they.

XIX.

"On the whole, you have lived long enough, I opine;

So now, by your leave, I will hasten to dine;

You'll make a good dinner, it must be confess'd,

And the world, I am thinking, will pardon the rest."

XX.

This lesson for every one, little and great,

Is taught in that vagabond's tragical fate:

Of him who is scheming your friend to ensnare

Unless you've a passion for Heeding, beware!