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- Nov. 27 - Thanksgiving (7 days)
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Story Box
~The Spider and the Fly~
"Will you walk into my parlour?"
Said the spider to the fly;
"'Tis the prettiest little parlour
That ever you did spy.
The way into my parlour
Is up a winding stair;
And I have many curious things
To show you when you're there."
"Oh, no, no," said the little fly;
"To ask me is in vain;
For who goes up your winding stair
Can ne'er come down again."
I'm sure you must be weary, dear,
With soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?"
Said the spider to the fly.
"There are pretty curtains all around,
The sheets are fine and thin,
And if you want to rest awhile,
I'll snugly tuck you in!"
"Oh, no, no," said the little fly;
"For I've often heard it said,
They never, never wake again
Who sleep upon your bed!"
Said the cunning spider to the fly,-
"Dear friend, what can I do
To prove the warm affection
I've always felt for you?
I have within my pantry
Good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome-
Will you please to take a slice?"
"Oh, no, no," said the little fly,
"Kind sir, that cannot be;
I've heard what's in your pantry,
And I do not wish to see!"
"Sweet creature!" said the spider,
"You're witty and you're wise;
How handsome are your gauzy wings,
How brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass
Upon my parlour shelf;
If you'll step in one moment, dear,
You shall behold yourself."
"I thank you, gentle sir," she said,
"For what you're pleased to say,
And, bidding you good-morning now,
I'll call another day."
The spider turned him round about,
And went into his den,
For well he knew the silly fly
Would soon come back again.
So he wove a subtle web
In a little corner sly,
And set his table ready
To dine upon the fly.
Then he came out to his door again,
And merrily did sing,
"Come hither, hither, pretty fly,
With the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple,
There's a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright,
But mine are dull as lead!"
Alas! alas! how very soon
This silly little fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words,
Came slowly flitting by!
With buzzing wings she hung aloft,
Then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes,
And green and purple hue-
Thinking only of her crested head-
Poor foolish thing! At last
Up jumped the cunning spider,
And fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair,
Into his dismal den:
Within his little parlour,-
But she ne'er came out again!
And now, dear little children
feeds Who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words,
I pray you ne'er give heed;
Unto an evil counselor
Close heart and ear and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale
Of the Spider and the Fly.
~Mary Howitt, Circa 1829~Currently in Atlanta, GA
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20 November 2008 @ 12:15
- Temp: 52°F
- Humidity: 41%
- Wind: NW at 10 mph
- Dew Point: 28°F
- Barometer: 30.10" Hg (1019 hPa)
- Clouds: clear skies
- Visibility: 10 miles
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