So well he wrought, so craftily he spread
In the thick foliage green his slender thread,
That when at eve the little songster sought
His wonted spray, his little foot was caught.
‘How have I harm’d you?’ straight he ’gan to cry,
‘And wherefore would you doom me thus to die?’
‘Nay, fear not,’ quoth the clown, ‘for death or wrong;
I only seek to profit by thy song:
I’ll get thee a fine cage, nor shalt thou lack
Good store of kernels and of seeds to crack;