All the ingenious men, and all the scientific men, and all 

 the fanciful men, in the world, with all the old German bogy- 

 painters into the bargain, could never invent . . . anything 

 so curious, and so ridiculous, as a lobster, 



Charles Kingsley, The Wafer- Babies. 



For, Spider, thou art like the poet poor, 



Whom thou hast help'd in song. 

 Both busily, our needful food to win. 



We work, as Nature taught, with ceaseless pains, 

 Thy bowels thou dost spin, 

 I spin my brains. 



SODTHEY, To a Spider. 



Last o'er the field the Mite enormous swims. 

 Swells his red heart, and writhes his giant limbs. 



Erasmus Dauwin, The Temple oj Nature. 



