As ducks and spiders ought to be!

No peccant humor in a gander

Brought havoc on her little folks,—

No poaching cook—a frying pander

To appetite,—destroyed their yolks,—

Beneath her very eyes, Od rot 'em!

They went, like plummets, to the bottom.

The thing was strange—a contradiction

It seemed of nature and her works!

For little ducks, beyond conviction,