372        [The Common Fate of Books]

  The worst Fate Bookes have, when they are once read,

They’re laid aside, forgotten like the Dead:

Under a heap of dust they buried lye,

Within a vault of some small Library.

5        But Spiders they, for honour of that Art

Of Spinning, which by Nature they were taught;

Since Men doe spin their Writings from the Braine,

Striving to make a lasting Web of Fame,

Of Cobwebs thin, high Altars doe they raise,

10     There offer Flyes, as sacrifice of praise.