It seems incomplete without you as a sort of settled guest;
Turn up solitary buzzing now; step in and take a rest.”
That little Fly looked longingly. Thinks he, “I do feel tired,
I’m fond of cosy parties, and I like to be admired.
Yet I have a slight suspicion that the thing may be a trap—
I twig something in the corner—I distrust that fat old chap.”
So “I’ll wait a little longer,” to the Spider said the Fly,
As he spread his wings (with friend Col-lings), and fluttered towards the Skye.
But whether he’ll come back again, and try that parlour yet,
Is a thing on which a cautious man would hardly like to bet.