Thou sorrow, venom Elfe: br Is this thy play, br To spin a web out of thyselfe br To Catch a Fly? br For Why? br br I saw a pettish wasp br Fall foule therein: br Whom yet thy Whorle pins did not clasp br Lest he should fling br His sting. br br But as affraid, remote br Didst stand hereat, br And with thy little fingers stroke br And gently tap br His back. br br Thus gently him didst treate br Lest he should pet, br And in a froppish, aspish heate br Should greatly fret br Thy net. br br Whereas the silly Fly, br Caught by its leg br Thou by the throate tookst hastily br And ‘hinde the head br Bite Dead. br br This goes to pot, that not br Nature doth call. br Strive not above what strength hath got, br Lest in the brawle br Thou fall. br br This Frey seems thus to us. br Hells Spider gets br His intrails spun to whip Cords thus br And wove to nets br And sets. br br To tangle Adams race br In’s stratigems br To their Destructions, spoil’d, made base br By venom things, br Damn’d Sins. br br But mighty, Gracious Lord br Communicate br Thy Grace to breake the Cord, afford br Us Glorys Gate br And State. br br We’l Nightingaile sing like br When pearcht on high br In Glories Cage, thy glory, bright, br And thankfully, br For joy.