A Bestiary: The Spider

Some things created they be
And now in the world we see,
That be loathly and loathsome all,
And yet we believe withal
That every living thing
May to man a lesson bring.
The Spider, she spins with speed,
To the house roof, as she hath need,
This, her means of life at last
To beam, or to eave makes fast.
From old hath she had this skill
This, her web, to cast at will,
In her wise to weave aright
Until she the same hath dight.
With that, she doth go her way,
In her hole doth hidden stay,
And, watching, in wait doth lie,
Till thitherward fares a fly,
And, fallen therein at last,
In the web it struggles fast
Striving itself to free;
Then she runneth rapidly,
For ever ready is she.
She comes anon to the net,
Takes the fly in the trap she set,
To bite it sharply is fain,
So doth she become its bane.
She slays it, and drinks its blood,
Nor doeth it other good,
Then when she her fill hath ta'en
Into hiding she goes again.

This creature betokens alway
The man who would others betray,
Whether in stead or in stall,
In market, or moat, or hall,
In open or secret guise,
Or in any other wise.
To bite his neighbour he sought

Who hath bale upon him brought;
Methinks he doth drink his blood
Who maketh him sad of mood;
And he eateth his neighbour still
When he worketh upon him ill.