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On a SPIDER. |
A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes | ||
298
On a SPIDER.
Artist, who underneath my table
Thy curious texture hast display'd;
Who, if we may believe the fable,
Wert once a fair ingenious maid:
Thy curious texture hast display'd;
Who, if we may believe the fable,
Wert once a fair ingenious maid:
Insidious, restless, watchful spider,
Fear no officious damsel's broom,
Extend thy artful fabric wider,
And spread thy banners round my room.
Fear no officious damsel's broom,
Extend thy artful fabric wider,
And spread thy banners round my room.
Swept from the rich man's costly ceiling,
Thou'rt welcome to my homely roof;
Here may'st thou find a peaceful dwelling,
And undisturb'd attend thy woof.
Thou'rt welcome to my homely roof;
Here may'st thou find a peaceful dwelling,
And undisturb'd attend thy woof.
Whilst I thy wond'rous fabric stare at,
And think on hapless poet's fate;
Like thee confin'd to lonely garret,
And rudely banish'd rooms of state.
And think on hapless poet's fate;
Like thee confin'd to lonely garret,
And rudely banish'd rooms of state.
And as from out thy tortur'd body
Thou draw'st thy slender string with pain,
So does he labour, like a noddy,
To spin materials from his brain.
Thou draw'st thy slender string with pain,
So does he labour, like a noddy,
To spin materials from his brain.
299
He for some fluttering tawdry creature,
That spreads her charms before his eye;
And that's a conquest little better
Than thine o'er captive butterfly.
That spreads her charms before his eye;
And that's a conquest little better
Than thine o'er captive butterfly.
Thus far 'tis plain we both agree,
Perhaps our deaths may better shew it;
'Tis ten to one but penury
Ends both the spider and the poet.
Perhaps our deaths may better shew it;
'Tis ten to one but penury
Ends both the spider and the poet.
A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes | ||