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 (1570-1626): The Immortality of the Soul.

"Will you walk into my parlour?" said a spider to a fly;

"'T is the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy."

Mary Howitt (1804-1888): The Spider and the Fly.

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 (1631-1701): Mariage à la Mode. Act ii. Sc. 1.