Than the misfortunes of the Spider.
Her host has made her dig and hoe,
And rake and chop, and plough and mow,
Until he's all but well.
"I can't resist him. Ah! ma belle:
Let us change places." Gladly heard.
The Spider took her at her word.
In the dark hovel she can spin:
No broom comes there with bustling din.
The Gout, on her part, pleased to trudge,
Goes straightway—wise as any judge—
Unto a bishop, and with whims