Ah, thou unfortunate!
Poor, silly fly,
Caught in the spider's web,
Hung there to die!
What could have tempted thee?
What led thee there,
For thy foe, thus to throw
Around thee the snare?
Struggling and crying so
Ne'er can unweave
From thee the silken threads,
Laid to deceive.
Sorrow for wandering
Comes now in vain;
And, with one thus undone,
Grief adds to pain.
Yet, I will rescue thee,
Unwary thing!
Thou may'st again be off,
High on the wing,
If thou wilt promise me,
Hence to be found
Never more, as before,
On evil ground.
Trust not the flatterer
Skilled to ensnare:
He is a wily one;
Think, and beware.
Down to his dusky ways
No more descend!
Little fly, thou and I
Both want a friend.
Man hath an enemy,
Whose snare is laid
Softly and silently,
Deep in the shade.
Light, by the tempter shunned,
Only can show
Where, secure, free, and pure,
Our feet may go.