"I'm sure you must be weary With soaring up so high; Will you rest upon my little bed?" Said the spider to the fly. "There are pretty curtains drawn around, The sheets are fine and thin; And if you like 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 shall 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 parlor 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 be back again; So he wove a subtle thread In a little corner sly, And set his table ready To dine upon the fly. He went 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-- Thought only of her brilliant eyes And green and purple hue; Thought 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 parlor--but She ne'er came out again! And now, dear little children Who may this story read, To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you, ne'er give heed: Unto an evil counsellor Close heart and ear and eye, And learn a lesson from this tale Of the spider and the fly. A FAREWELL By CHARLES KINGSLEY My fairest child, I have no song to give you; No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray; Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; Do noble things, not dream them, all day long: And so make life, death, and that vast forever One grand sweet song. QUEEN ALICE By LEWIS CARROLL