Much like a subtle spider which doth sit|
In middle of her web, which spreadeth wide;
If aught do touch the utmost thread of it,
She feels it instantly on every side.
Sir John Davies - The Immortality of the Soul
The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine!
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs;
Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.
The spider taketh hold with her hands, and is in kings' palaces.
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web...
William Shakespeare - Romeo and Juliet
'Will you walk into my parlour?' said a spider to a fly:
Or almost like a spider, who, confin’d
'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy'
Mary Howitt - The Spider and the Fly
In her web’s centre, shakt with every winde,
Moves in an instant if the buzzing flie
Stir but a string of her lawn canapie
Guillaume de Salluste Du Bartas - First Week, Sixth Day
Our souls sit close and silently within,
And their own web from their own entrails spin;
And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such,
That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.
John Dryden - Mariage à la Mode