"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 shew when you are 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 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 up again, who sleep upon your bed!"
Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, "Dear friend
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've 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,
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 diamonds 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, 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 take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.
The Spider and the Fly (1829)
by
Mary Howitt
Thanks for stopping by!
From our house to yours, my family and I
would like to wish you all
A Very Happy and Safe Halloween
Mary Howitt was born Mary Botham on March 17th, 1799, in Coleford, Gloucestershire, England, and died on January 1888 (aged 88) in Rome, Kingdom of Italy. She was an English poet, the author of the famous poem The Spider and the Fly. She translated several tales by Hans Christian Andersen. Some of her works were written in conjunction with her husband, William Howitt. Many, in verse and prose, were intended for young people.
The first photo is one I took in our neighborhood, in the dark with my cell phone. I used my ArtCard app to turn it into a painting, and added several themed graphics I found at pixabay.com.
Our family photo was taken after son dropped in for a visit. Selfie ensued and I once again played with my apps after he left.
(My Monday Morning Recipe will be posted tomorrow instead.)
I had already gone upstairs and Gregg was next, but first he looked out the window. This is the sight that greeted him. More on our little trick or treater in another post.
Getting really spooky...
