“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly;

“It is the prettiest little parlor that you ever did spy.

The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,

And I have many pretty things to show 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 never come down again.”

“I am sure you must be tired, dear, from 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 will snugly tuck you in.”

” Oh, no, no,” said the little fly, “for I had often hear it said,

They NEVER, NEVER WAKE again, who sleep upon your bed.”

The cunning spider said to the fly, “Dear friend, what shall I do,

To prove the warm affection, I always feel for you?

I have within my pantry good store of all that are nice;

I am sure you are very welcome; will you please just take a slice?”

“Oh, no, no,” said the little fly, “kind sir, that cannot be;

I have heard what is in your pantry, and I do not wish to see.”

“Sweet creature!” said the spider, “you are witty and you are wise,

How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!

I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf,

If you will step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself.”

“I thank you, gentle sir,” she said, “for what you are pleased to say,

I am bidding you good-day for NOW, I will come ANOTHER day.”

The spider turned him round about, and went into his den,

For very well he know the silly fly will soon be 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 he sang,

“Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl and silver wing;

Your robes are green and purple; there is a crest upon you 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 hang aloft, then near and nearer drew,

Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue;

Thinking only or 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 never came out again!

And now, dear little children, who may this story read,

To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you never heed;

Unto an evil counselor , close heart, and ear and eye,

And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.

Fable written by: Mary Howitt

Submitted by: Annie Almaden Gica