SEE, where his difficult way that Old Man wins Bent by a load of Mulberry leaves!--most hard Appears 'his' lot, to the small Worm's compared, For whom his toil with early day begins. Acknowledging no task-master, at will (As if her labour and her ease were twins) 'She' seems to work, at pleasure to lie still;-- And softly sleeps within the thread she spins. So fare they--the Man serving as her Slave. Ere long their fates do each to each conform: 10 Both pass into new being,--but the Worm, Transfigured, sinks into a hopeless grave; 'His' volant Spirit will, he trusts, ascend To bliss unbounded, glory without end.
