“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 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 am 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 many more arts, the Spider spoke,
To catch and keep the wandering folk.
The little Fly, deceived by wiles so sly,
Flew into the Spider’s parlour and there did die.