THE TRAGIC MICE.
It was a tragic little mouseAll bent on suicideBecause another little mouseRefused to be his bride.“Alas!” he squeaked, “I shall not wed!My heart and paw she spurns;I’ll hie me to the cat instead,From whence no mouse returns!”The playful cat met him half way,Said she, “I feel for you,You’re dying for a mouse, you say,I’m dying for one, too!”Now when Miss Mouse beheld his doom,Struck with remorse, she cried,“In death we’ll meet!—O cat! make roomFor one more mouse inside.”The playful cat was charmed; said she,“I shall be, in a sense,Your pussy catafalque!” Ah me!It was her last offence!Reader, take warning from this tale,And shun the punster’s trick:Those mice, for fear lest cats might fail,Had eaten arsenic!
It was a tragic little mouseAll bent on suicideBecause another little mouseRefused to be his bride.“Alas!” he squeaked, “I shall not wed!My heart and paw she spurns;I’ll hie me to the cat instead,From whence no mouse returns!”The playful cat met him half way,Said she, “I feel for you,You’re dying for a mouse, you say,I’m dying for one, too!”Now when Miss Mouse beheld his doom,Struck with remorse, she cried,“In death we’ll meet!—O cat! make roomFor one more mouse inside.”The playful cat was charmed; said she,“I shall be, in a sense,Your pussy catafalque!” Ah me!It was her last offence!Reader, take warning from this tale,And shun the punster’s trick:Those mice, for fear lest cats might fail,Had eaten arsenic!
It was a tragic little mouseAll bent on suicideBecause another little mouseRefused to be his bride.
It was a tragic little mouse
All bent on suicide
Because another little mouse
Refused to be his bride.
“Alas!” he squeaked, “I shall not wed!My heart and paw she spurns;I’ll hie me to the cat instead,From whence no mouse returns!”
“Alas!” he squeaked, “I shall not wed!
My heart and paw she spurns;
I’ll hie me to the cat instead,
From whence no mouse returns!”
The playful cat met him half way,Said she, “I feel for you,You’re dying for a mouse, you say,I’m dying for one, too!”
The playful cat met him half way,
Said she, “I feel for you,
You’re dying for a mouse, you say,
I’m dying for one, too!”
Now when Miss Mouse beheld his doom,Struck with remorse, she cried,“In death we’ll meet!—O cat! make roomFor one more mouse inside.”
Now when Miss Mouse beheld his doom,
Struck with remorse, she cried,
“In death we’ll meet!—O cat! make room
For one more mouse inside.”
The playful cat was charmed; said she,“I shall be, in a sense,Your pussy catafalque!” Ah me!It was her last offence!
The playful cat was charmed; said she,
“I shall be, in a sense,
Your pussy catafalque!” Ah me!
It was her last offence!
Reader, take warning from this tale,And shun the punster’s trick:Those mice, for fear lest cats might fail,Had eaten arsenic!
Reader, take warning from this tale,
And shun the punster’s trick:
Those mice, for fear lest cats might fail,
Had eaten arsenic!
They paused just at the crossing’s brink.Said she, “We must turn back, I think.”She eyes the mud. He sees her shrink,Yet does not falter,But recollects with fatal tactThat cloak upon his arm—in fact,Resolves to do the courtly actOf good Sir Walter.Why is it that she makes no sound,Staring aghast as on the groundHe lays the cloak with bow profound?Her utterance chokes her.She stands as petrified, until,Her voice regained, in accents chillShe gasps, “I’ll thank you if you willPick up my cloak, sir!”
They paused just at the crossing’s brink.Said she, “We must turn back, I think.”She eyes the mud. He sees her shrink,Yet does not falter,But recollects with fatal tactThat cloak upon his arm—in fact,Resolves to do the courtly actOf good Sir Walter.Why is it that she makes no sound,Staring aghast as on the groundHe lays the cloak with bow profound?Her utterance chokes her.She stands as petrified, until,Her voice regained, in accents chillShe gasps, “I’ll thank you if you willPick up my cloak, sir!”
They paused just at the crossing’s brink.Said she, “We must turn back, I think.”She eyes the mud. He sees her shrink,Yet does not falter,But recollects with fatal tactThat cloak upon his arm—in fact,Resolves to do the courtly actOf good Sir Walter.
They paused just at the crossing’s brink.
Said she, “We must turn back, I think.”
She eyes the mud. He sees her shrink,
Yet does not falter,
But recollects with fatal tact
That cloak upon his arm—in fact,
Resolves to do the courtly act
Of good Sir Walter.
Why is it that she makes no sound,Staring aghast as on the groundHe lays the cloak with bow profound?Her utterance chokes her.She stands as petrified, until,Her voice regained, in accents chillShe gasps, “I’ll thank you if you willPick up my cloak, sir!”
Why is it that she makes no sound,
Staring aghast as on the ground
He lays the cloak with bow profound?
Her utterance chokes her.
She stands as petrified, until,
Her voice regained, in accents chill
She gasps, “I’ll thank you if you will
Pick up my cloak, sir!”