Fly. My wings are somewhat snipped; that’s all.
Mole (holding a sword to the Spider’s throat). Will you promise by your eight legs to spin nothing hereafter but beautiful garments for Little Miss Muffet, Queen of the Meadow?
Spider (in a meek, choked voice). I promise.
Cricket. Remember, you are never to spin another web as long as you live! I don’t care to have any more of my relatives entrapped.
Spider. I promise.
Fly. Do you promise to eat no more flies as long as you live?
Spider. I do.
Mole. Very well, Elves, I appoint you as guards for the black Spider over night. In the morning I will send around two Roosters whom I know. For a reasonable salary of corn I am sure they will consent to keep an eye on him hereafter.
Muffet. Dear Fly, I like you all the better now that you have so bravely bearded the black Spider in his web. Never again will he attempt to sit beside me! (Spider groans.)
Cricket. But what about me?