"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.