To a boyling pot flies comes not. [To a boiling pot flies come not.]

Oh! that the memories which survive us here Were half so lovely as these wings of thine! Pure relics of a blameless life, that shine Now thou art gone.

Baby bye Here's a fly, Let us watch him, you and I, How he crawls Up the walls Yet he never falls.

Busy, curious, thirsty fly, Drink with me and drink as I! Freely welcome to my cup, Could'st thou sip and sip it up; Make the most of life you may; Life is short and wears away.

A fly sat on the chariot wheel And said "what a dust I raise."

I saw a flie within a beade Of amber cleanly buried.