In yonder glass behold a drowning fly! Its little feet how vainly does it ply! Its cries we hear not, yet it loudly cries, And gentle hearts can feel its agonies! Poor helpless victim--and will no one save? Will no one snatch thee from the threat’ning wave? Is there no friendly hand--no helper nigh, And must thou, little struggler--must thou die? Thou shalt not, whilst this hand can set thee free, Thou shalt not die--this hand shall rescue thee! My finger’s tip shall prove a friendly shore, There, trembler, all thy dangers now are o’er. Wipe thy wet wings, and banish all thy fear; Go, join thy num’rous kindred in the air. Away it flies; resumes its harmless play; And lightly gambols in the golden ray. Smile not, spectators, at this humble deed; For you, perhaps, a nobler task’s decreed. A young and sinking family to save: To raise the infant from destruction’s wave! To you, for help, the victims lift their eyes-- Oh! hear, for pity’s sake, their plaintive cries; Ere long, unless some guardian interpose, O’er their devoted heads the flood may close!

The Drowning Fly Monologue from Every Man in His Humour

Rehearse The Drowning Fly's monologue