Classic Poem

Why , Mistress Nera, what the devil 's here?
To bring my stockings home at last undone? N.
Undone! Ah! God knows, if I've sewn and sewn;
But they so spider-web , it's a despair. A.
So spider-web , schoolmistress! Why, that 's queer. N.
How? Anything that we put off and on,
And wear and wear, till all the stuff is gone,
Doesn't it spider-web ? I think it 's clear A.

Spider-web ? I don't take it; what d'ye mean? N.
Lord bless me, Sir, break me a spider's web,
And see if I can sew it up again. A.
Ah! It is I that am the unlicked cub.
I grow grey writing Tuscan, but in vain:
A sorry graft, fit only for the grub.