text: I joy to see how in your drawen work,
  Your selfe unto the Bee ye doe compare;
  And me unto the Spyder that doth lurke,
  In close awayt to catch her unaware.
  Right so your selfe were caught in cunning snare
  Of a deare for, and thralled to his love:
  In whose streight bands ye now captived are
  So firmely, that ye never may remove.
  But as your whole worke is woven all about,
  With woodbynd flowers and fragrant Enlantine:
  So sweet your prison you in time shall prove,
  With many deare delights bedecked fyne,
  And all thensforth eternall peace shall see
  Betweene the Spyder and the gentle Bee.