When the wind across him blew,
Pulled one of the rugs from one of the bugs,
And so the quarrel grew.
So there was war in the basket;
Ah! pity ’tis, ’tis true!
But he that was frozen and starved, at last
A strength from his weakness drew,
And pulled the rugs from both the bugs,
And killed and ate them, too!
Now when bugs live in a basket,