Three naughty pigs,
  All in one pen,
Drank up the milk
  Left by the men,
Then all the three
  Fast as they could,
Dug their way out
  To find something good.

Out in the garden
  A maiden fair
Had set some flowers
  Of beauty rare.

Out in the garden
  A merry boy
Had planted seeds,
  With childish joy,

One naughty pig
  Ran to the bed;
Soon lay the flowers
  Drooping and dead.

To naughty pigs
  Dug up the seeds,
And left, for the boy,
  Not even weeds.

Three naughty pigs,
  Back in the pen,
Never could do
  Such digging again.

For, in their noses,
  Something would hurt
Whenever they tried
  To dig in the dirt.

Little Biddy O'Toole, on her three-legged stool,
  Was 'atin' her praties so hot;
  Whin up stepped the pig,
  Wid his appetite big,
And Biddy got down like a shot.

It was the stalwart butcher man
  That knit his swarthy brow,
And said the gentle pig must die,
  And sealed it with a vow.

And oh! it was the gentle pig
  Lay stretched upon the ground,
And ah! it was the cruel knife
  His little heart that found.

They took him then those wicked men,
  They trailed him all along;
They put a stick between his lips,
  And through his heels a thong.

And round and round an oaken beam
  A hempen cord they flung,
And like a mighty pendulum
  All solemnly he swung.

Now say thy prayers, thou sinful man
  And think what thou hast done,
And read thy catechism well,
  Thou sanguinary one.

For if its sprite should walk by night
  It better were for thee,
That thou were mouldering in the ground,
  Or bleaching in the sea.

It was the savage butcher then
  That made a mock of sin,
And swore a very wicked oath,
  He did not care a pin.

It was the butcher's youngest son,
  His voice was broke with sighs,
And with his pocket handkerchief
  He wiped his little eyes.

All young and ignorant was he,
  But innocent and mild,
And, in his soft simplicity,
  Out spoke the tender child—

"Oh! father, father, list to me;
  The pig is deadly sick,
And men have hung him by his heels,
  And fed him with a stick."

It was the naughty butcher then
  That laughed as he would die,
Yet did he soothe the sorrowing child
  And bid him not to cry.

"Oh! Nathan, Nathan, what's a pig,
  That thou shouldst weep and wail?
Come bear thee like a butcher's child,
  And thou shalt have his tail."

It was the butcher's daughter then,
  So slender and so fair,
That sobbed as if her heart would break
  And tore her yellow hair.

And thus she spoke in thrilling tone—
  Fell fast the tear-drops big:
"Ah! woe to me! Alas! alas!
  The pig! the pig! the pig!"

Then did her wicked father's lips
  Make merry wit her woe,
And call her many a naughty name,
  Because she whimpered so.

Ye need not weep, ye gentle ones,
  In vain your tears are shed,
Ye cannot wash the crimson hand,
  Ye cannot sooth the dead.

The bright sun folded on his breast,
  His robes of rosey flame,
And softly over all the west
  The shades of evening came.

He slept, and troops of murdered pigs
  Were busy in his dreams;
Loud rang their wild, unearthly shrieks,
  Wide yawned their mortal seams.

The clock struck twelve; the dead hath heard;
  He opened both his eyes,
And sullenly he shook his tail
  To lash the feeding flies.

One quiver of the hempen cord—
  One struggle and one bound—
With stiffened limb and leaded eye,
  The pig was on the ground.

And straight towards the sleeper's house
  His fearful way he wended;
And hooting owl, and hovering bat,
  On midnight wing attended.

Back flew the bolt, uprose the latch,
  And open swung the door,
And little mincing feet were heard
  Pat, pat, along the floor.

Two hoofs upon the sanded floor,
  And two upon the bed;
And they are breathing side by side,
  The living and the dead.

"Now wake, now wake, thou butcher man!
  What makes your cheeks so pale?
Take hold! take hold! thou dost not fear
  To clasp a spectre's tail?"

Untwisted every winding coil;
  The shuddering wretch took hold,
Till like an icicle it seemed,
  So tapering and so cold.

"Thou com'st with me, thou butcher man!"
  He strives to loose his grasp,
But, faster than the clinging vine,
  Those twining spirals clasp.

And open, open, swung the door,
  And fleeter than the wind,
The shadowy spectre swept before,
  The butcher trailed behind.

Fast fled the darkness of the night,
  And morn rose faint and dim;
They called full loud, they knocked full long
  They did not waken him.

Straight, straight towards that oaken beam,
  A trampled pathway ran;
A ghastly shape was swinging there—
  It was the butcher man.

                O. W. Holmes

Little Dame Crump,
  With her little hair broom,
One morning was sweeping
  Her little bedroom,
When, casting he little
  Grey eyes on the ground,
In a sly little corner
  A penny she found.

"Dear me!" cried the Dame,
  While she started with surprise,
"How lucky I am
  To find such a prize!
To market I'll go,
  And a pig I will buy,
And little John Grubbins
  Shall make him a sty."

So she washed her face clean,
  And put on her gown,
And locked up the house,
  And set off for town.
Then to market she went,
  And a purchase she made
Of a little white pig,
  And a penny she paid.

Having purchased the pig,
  She was puzzled to know
How they both should get home;
  So fearing least piggie
Should play her a trick,
  She drove him along
With a little crab stick.

Piggie ran till they came
  To the foot of a hill,
Where a little bridge stood
  O'er the stream of a mill;
Piggie grunted and squeaked,
  But not further would go:
Oh, fie! Piggie, fie!
  To serve little Dame so.

She went to the mill,
  And she borrowed a sack
To put the pig in,
  And take him on her back:
Piggie squeaked to get out,
  But the little Dame said,
"If you won't go of yourself,
  You then must be made."

At last when the end
  Of her journey had come,
She was awfully glad
  She had got the pig home:
She carried him straight
  To his nice little sty,
And gave him some hay
  And some straw, nice and dry.

With a handful of peas
  Then Piggie she fed,
And put on her night-cap,
  And got into bed:
Having first said her prayers,
  And put out the light;
And being quite tired,
  We'll wish her good night.

Old Madam Grumph, the pig, had got
  A pig-sty of her own;
She is a most un-com-mon pig,
  And likes to live alone.

A red-tiled roofing covers in
  The one half of her sty;
And, half sur-round-ed by a wall,
  Is open to the sky.

There stands the trough, they keep it fill'd
  With pig-wash and with parings;
And all the other pigs declare
  Dame Grumph has dainty fairings.

They like to see what she's about,
  And poke their noses through
A great hole in the pig-sty door,
  From whence they get a view.

The pigs, that run about the yard,
  Are very lean and tall,
With long hind legs—but Madam Grumph
  Is round as any ball.

One autumn day, when she awoke
  ('Twas very cold and raw),
She found a litter of young pigs
  Half buried in the straw.

"Humph," said the dame, "now let me see
  How many have I got."
She counted, "Six and four are ten,—
  Two dead ones in the lot.

"Eight—That's a nice round family;
  A black one and two white;
The rest are spotted like myself,
  With prick ears—that's all right.

"What's to be done with those dead things,
  They'd better be thrown out,"
Said she, and packed the litter round
  The others with her snout.

"What's that, old Grumphy?" said a pig,
  Whose snout peeped through the door;
"There's something moving in the straw
  I never saw before."

"I wish you'd mind your own affairs,"
  Said she, and stepp'd between
The young pigs and the pig-sty door,
  Not wishing to be seen.

"I hope you slept well," said the pig,
  "The wind was very high;
You are most comfortably lodged—
  A most con-ve-ni-ent sty."

"I thought I told you once before
  To mind your own affairs,"
Said she, and bristling up her back,
  She bit the lean pig's ears.

"Squeak," said the bitten pig, "sque-e-ak,
  Old Grumphy's biting hard;"
And all the lean pigs scamp-ed'd up
  From all sides of the yard.

They grumbled and they grunted loud,
  The squeak'd in every key;
At last another pig peep'd through,
  To see what he could see.

Dame Grumph was standing by her pigs,
  And looking very proud,
And all the little piggy-wigs
  Were squeaking very loud.

"These lovely creatures," said old Grumph,
  "These lovely pigs are mine;
There're fat and pink like human babes,
  Most pro-mi-sing young swine."

"Indeed," ex-claim'd the peeping pig,
  "I never should have thought,
They were so very promising."
  Old Grumphy gave a snort.

"They're of a most dis-tin-guished race;
  My mother and her brother
Were both im-por-ted from Pekin,—
  My pigs are like my mother.

"They never shall as-so-ci-ate
  With long-legged pigs like you."
Said she, ad-dress-ing the lean pig,
  Whose snout was peeping through.

"Begging your pardon, ma'am
  I really think," said he,
"The dif-fer-ence is not so great
  As it appears to be.

"If you and I were bacon, ma'am
  The dif-fer-ence between
An Irish and a Chinese pig
  Would hardly then be seen.

"Give me your comfortable sty,
  And some of your nice food,
Our little fa-mi-lies might prove
  In-dif-fer-ent-ly good."

                Aunt Effie's Rhymes

Dickery, dickery dare,
The pig flew up in the air,
But Patrick Brown soon brought him down,
Dickery, dickery, dare.

Among the sand-hills,
  Near by the sea,
Wild young rabbits
  Were seen by me.

They live in burrows
  With winding-ways,
And there they shelter
  On rainy days.

The mother rabbits
  Make cosy nests,
With hairy linings
  From their breasts.

The tender young ones
  Are nursed and fed,
And safely hidden
  In this warm bed.

And when they are older,
  They all come out
Upon the sand-hills
  And frisk about.

They play and nibble
  The long, dry grass,
But scamper away
  Whenever you pass.

    A pert little rabbit,
     Once lived in a hole,
And just did whatever he pleased;
    His ways were so funny,
     His antics so droll,
That his parents were terribly teased.

    "Now, dear," said his mother,
     "You'd best stay at home,
And try to be patient and good."
    But No! he was fully
      Determined to roam
Through the green and beautiful wood.

    So what did he do?
     On a fine summer day,
When mother was not to be seen,
    He took to his heels,
      And scampered away
Right over the meadow so green.

    He shook his long ears,
     And he whisked up his tail,
His eyes dancing with glee,
    As onward he ran
     Through a beautiful vale,
And oh! how delighted was he!

    'Twas not very long
     Till he found a haystack,
Where of course there was shelter and food.
    Said he to himself,
     "Now, I'll never go back
To my stupid old home in the wood.

    "I'll dig myself a nice den
     For myself in the hay;
How warm it will be and how nice!
    Why in my old burrow
      Full many a day
I've often felt colder than ice!"

    So bunny soon dug him
     A nice little hole,
And made it as round as an O;
    And really he looked
     So exceedingly droll,
You'd have laughed had you seen him, I know.

    But evening drew on,
     It was lonely and dark,
So Bunny lay down in his den;
    Said he to himself,
     "I'll get up with the lark,
And won't I be ravenous then!

    "For really this hay,
     Though it does for a nest,
Is somewhat too dry for my food;
    At home there is clover,
     The thing I love best,
And lettuce and carrots so good.

    "I wish I had some
     At this moment! but then
I'm out on my travels just now,
    And I greatly prefer
     To reside in this den,
Than at home where there's often a row!

    "Ah, well! I feel sleepy,
     I'd best go to bed—
But what is that noise that I hear?
    There seems to be someone
     Right over my head,
I hope that no wild beasts are near!"

    Meanwhile an old fox
     With a great bushy tail
Was prowling about and around,
    But poor little Bunny
      Was hidden so well
That never a bit was he found!

    When morning had come,
     And the fox disappeared,
Then Bunny came forth to the light,
    Said he to himself,
     "It was just as I feared,
A fox has been here through the night.

    "I think I had better
      Go scampering home
To the dear little home in the wood,
    And never, oh never
      Again will I roam,
Or leave my dear mother so good."

    Away then he ran,
     Without once looking back,
Till he saw the dear home he loved best.
    And mother came hopping
     Along the hard track
To welcome him home to the nest.

    And, oh! such a breakfast
     Before him there lay,
Such clover and grass from the wood;
    And always I've heard,
     From that terrible day,
That Bunny is patient and good.

                B. R. McKean

I have a little Bunny
  With his coat as soft as down,
And nearly all of him is white
  Except one bit of brown.
The first thing in the morning,
  When I get out of bed,
I wonder if my bunny's still
  Safe in his shed.

And then the next thing that I do,
  I daresay you have guessed;
It's at once to go and see him,
  When I am washed and dressed.
And every day I see him,
  I like him more and more,
And each day he is bigger
  Than he was the day before.

I feed him in the morning
  With bran and bits of bread.
And every night I take some straw
  To make his little bed.
What with carrots in the morning
  And turnip-tops for tea,
If a bunny can be happy,
  I'm sure he ought to be.

Then when it's nearly bed-time
  I go down to his shed,
And say "Good-night, you bunny!"
  Before I go to bed,
I think there's only one thing
  That would make me happy quite,
If I could take my bunny dear
  With me to bed at night.

                Robert Mack

Beyond the palings of the park
  A Hare had made her form,
Beneath a drooping fern, that made
  A shelter snug and warm.

She slept until the daylight came,
  And all thinks were awake,
And then the Hare, with noiseless steps,
  Crept softly from the brake.

She stroked her whiskers with her paws,
  Looked timidly around
With open eyes and ears erect
  That caught the smallest sound.

The Field-Mouse rustled in the grass,
  The Squirrel in the trees,
But Puss was not at all afraid
  Of common sounds like these.

She frisked and gambolled with delight,
  And cropped a leaf or two
Of clover and of tender grass,
  That glistened in the dew.

What was it, then, that made her start,
  And run away so fast?
She heard the distant sound of hounds,
  She heard the huntsman's blast.

Tally-ho!-hoy tally-ho!
  The hounds are in full cry;
Ehew! ehew—in scarlet coats
  The men are sweeping by.

So off she set with a spring and a bound,
Over the meadows and open ground,
Faster than hunter and faster than hound
And on—and on—till she lost the sound,
And away went the little Hare.

                Aunt Effie

Thoughtless little Peter,
  With his little gun,
Went out by the woodside
  For a little fun;
Saw a happy little hare,
  Who on clover fed—
With his little gun took aim
  And shot him in the head.

Thoughtful little Peter,
  Sad for what he'd done,
Sat down on a stump, and there
  By it laid his gun;
Wished that he could bring to life
  That little hare so still;
"Never more," said he, "will I
  A harmless creature kill."

Here lies whom hound did ne'er pursue,
  Nor swifter greyhound follow,
Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew
  Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo.

Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
  Who, nursed with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confined,
  Was still a wild Jack-hare.

Though duly from my hand he took
  His pittance every night,
He did it with a jealous look,
  And when he could he would bite.

On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,
  On pippin's russet peel;
And when his juicy salads fail'd,
  Sliced carrot pleased him well.

A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
  Whereon he loved to bound,
To skip and gambol like a fawn,
  And swing himself around.

His frisking was at evening hours
  For then he'd lost his fear!
But most before approaching showers,
  Or when a storm drew near.

Eight years and five round-rolling moons
  He thus saw steal away,
Dozing out all his idle noons
  And every night at play.

I kept him for his humour's sake,
  For he would oft beguile
My heart of thoughts that made it ache,
  And force me to a smile.

But now, beneath this walnut shade,
  He finds his long last home,
And waits, in snug concealment laid
  Till gentler puss shall come.

He, still more aged, feels the shocks
  From which no care can save;
And partner once of Tiney's box,
  Must soon partake his grave.

                William Cowper

All on the bare and bleak hillside,
One night this merry Christmastide,
A shivering hunted hare did hide;
                Poor Pussy!

Though we had hunted puss all day,
The wind had blown her scent away,
And balked the dogs, so there she lay,
                Poor Pussy!

There to the earth she humbly crept,
There brooding o'er her lot she wept,
There, on her empty stomach she slept.
                Poor Pussy!

And there, while frozen fell the dew,
She dreamt an ugly dream or two,
As starved, wet folk are apt to do,
                Did Pussy!

Loud hungry hounds of subtle ken,
And thundering steeds, and hard-eyed men,
Are fast on Pussy's trail again,
                Poor Pussy!

Onwards she strains, on, as they tear
Foremost amongst the foremost there,
Are ruthless women's faces fair;
                Poor Pussy!

One moment's check, to left, to right,
In vain she spends her little might,
Some yokel's eyes have marked her flight,
                Poor Pussy!

What use her fine small wits to rack!
Closer, and faster on her track
Hurries the hydra-headed pack,
                Lost Pussy!

"For pity's sake, kind huntsman, stop!
Call off the dogs before I drop,
And kill me with your heavy crop."
                Shrieks Pussy!

With shuddering start and stifled scream,
She wakes!—She finds it all a dream;
How kind the cold, cold earth doth seem
                To Pussy!

  Hamelin Town's in Brunswick
By famous Hanover city;
  The river Weser, deep and wide,
  Washes its wall on the southern side.
  A pleasanter spot you never spied;
But, when begins my ditty,
  Almost five hundred years ago,
  To see the townsfolk suffer so
From vermin was a pity.

  Rats!
They fought the dogs and killed the cats,
  And bit the babies in the cradles,
And ate the cheeses out of the vats,
  And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,
Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,
And even spoiled the women's chats,
  By drowning their speaking,
  With shrieking and squeaking
In fifty different sharps and flats.

At last the people in a body
  To the Town Hall came flocking:
"'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy;
  And as for our Corporation—shocking
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine
For dolts that can't or won't determine
What's best to rid us of our vermin!

Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,
Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats,
Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,
  Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,
Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,
  Families by tens and dozens,
Brothers, sisters, husbands wives—
Followed the Piper for their lives.
From street to street he piped advancing,
Until they came to river Weser
Wherein all plunged and perished
—Save one.

You should have heard the Hamelin people
Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple.
  "Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles!
  Poke out the nests and block up the holes!
Consult with carpenters and builders,
  And leave in our town not even a trace
  Of the rats!"—when suddenly up the face
  Of the Piper perked in the market-place,
With a "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"

The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood
As if they were carved into blocks of wood,
Unable to move a step, or cry
To the children merrily skipping by—
And could only follow with the eye
That joyous crowd at the Piper's back.
But how the Mayor was on the rack,
And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,
As the Piper turned from the High street
To where the Weser rolled its waters
Right in the way of their sons and daughters!
However he turned from South to West,
And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed,
And after him the children pressed;
Great was the joy in every breast.

  "He never can cross that mighty top!
  He's forced to let the piping drop,
  And we shall see out children stop!"
When lo! as they reached the mountain's side,
A wondrous portal opened wide,
As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed
And the Piper advanced and the children followed.
And when all were in to the very last,
The door in the mountain-side shut fast,
Did I say all? No! one was lame,
And could not dance the whole of the way!

And in after years, if you would blame
His sadness, he was used to say—
  "It's dull in our town since my playmates left;
  I can't forget that I'm bereft
  Of all they pleasant sights they see,
  Which the Piper also promised me;
  For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,
  Joining the town and just at hand,
Where waters gushed and fruit trees grew,
And flowers put forth a fairer hue.

The mayor sent East, West, North and South,
To offer the Piper by word of mouth,
  Wherever it was men's lot to find him,
Silver and gold to his heart's content,
If he'd only return the way he went,
  And bring the children all behind him.
But at length they saw 'twas a lost endeavour,
For Piper and dancers were gone for ever.

                Browning

The summer and autumn had been so wet
That in winter the corn was growing yet;
'Twas a piteous sight to see all around
The grain lie rotting on the ground.

Every day the starving poor
Crowded around Bishop Hatto's door,
For all the neighbourhood could tell
His granaries were furnished well.

At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day
To quiet the poor without delay:
He bade them to his great Barn repair
And they should have food for the winter there.

Rejoiced such tidings good to hear,
The poor folk flocked from far and near;
So the great Barn was full as it could hold
Of women and children, and young and old.

Then when he saw it could hold no more,
Bishop Hatto he made fast the door;
And while for mercy with shrieks they call,
He set fire to the Barn and burnt them all,

"A rare and excellent bonfire!" quoth he,
"And the country is greatly obliged to me,
For ridding it in these times forlorn
Of Rats that only consume the corn."

So then to his palace returned he,
And he sat down to supper merrily,
And he slept that night like an innocent man;—
But Bishop Hatto never slept again.

In the morning as he entered the hall,
Where his picture hung against the wall,
A sweat like death all over him came,
For the Rats had eaten it out of the frame.

As he looked, there came a man from his farm,
He had a countenance white with alarm;—
"I opened your granaries this morn,
And the Rats had eaten all the corn."

Another came running presently,
And he was pale as pale could be;—
"Fly! my Lord Bishop, without delay,
Ten thousand rats are coming this way."

"I'll go to my tower on the Rhine," quoth he,
"'Tis the safest place in Germany;
The walls are high and the shores are steep,
And the stream is long and the water deep."

Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away,
And he crossed the Rhine without delay,
And reached his tower, and barred with care
All the windows, doors, and loopholes there.

He laid him down, and closed his eyes.
But soon a scream made him arise:
He started, and saw two eyes of flame
On his pillow, from whence the screaming came.

He listened, and looked—it was only the cat;
But the Bishop grew more fearful for that,
For she sat screaming, mad with fear,
At the army of rats that were drawing near.

For they have swum over the river so deep,
And they have climed the shores so steep,
And up the tower their way is bent,
To do the work for which they were sent.

They are not to be told by the dozen or score—
By the thousands they come, and by myriads, and more;
Such numbers have never been heard of before,
Such a judgement had never been witnessed of yore.

Down on his knees the Bishop fell,
And faster and faster his beads did tell,
As louder and louder, drawing near,
The gnawing by their teeth he could hear.

And in at the windows, and in at the door,
And through the walls helter-skelter they pour,
And down from the ceiling, and up from the floor,
From the right and the left, from behind and before,
From within and without, from above and below;
And all at once to the Bishop they go.

They have whetted their teeth against the stones,
And now they pick the Bishop's bones;
They gnawed the flesh from every limb,
For they were sent to do judgement on him.

                R. Southey

He was a rat, and she was a rat,
  And down in one hole they did dwell,
And both were as black as a witch's cat,
  And they loved one another well.

He had a tail, and she had a tail,
  Both long and curling and fine,
And each said, "Yours is the finest tail
  In the world, excepting mine."

He smelt the cheese, and she smelt the cheese,
  And they both pronounced it good;
And both remarked it would greatly add
  To the charms of their daily food.

So he ventured out, and she ventured out,
  And I saw them go with pain;
But what befel them I never can tell,
  For they never came back again.

A baby-girl, on Christmas night
Had filled her little apron white
With all a happy child could take
Of Christmas toys and Christmas cake;

But on the stairway she let fall
The chiefest treasure of them all—
A little cat of gingerbread
All frosted white from tail to head.

Now in the moonlit midnight time,
When merry mice do run and climb,
A plump gray mouse come down the stair
And saw the Christmas cake-cat there.

She stood still in her cruel fright
And gazed upon the monster white
Who seemed to feel as great surprise,
And stared with both his raisin eyes.

Poor mousie dared not, could not stir!
Her little brain was in a whirr!
Five minutes—ten—but not a paw
Had puss put forth! "I never saw

A cat like this!" the poor mouse said.
A brave bold thought came in her head—
Her wee heart beating pit-a-pat,
She moved her own paw—touched the cat—

Then sprang upon it with a squeal
And made a most delicious meal
"Ho! ho!" she cried, "Sugar! spice!
And everything that's good and nice—

That's what cats are made of,
The cats that we're afraid of!"
Then up the stairs she madly pranced,
And o'er the attic floor she danced

And then she stood upon her head
And to her 'stonished friends she said,
"O, joy to every mouse and rat,
For I have eaten up the cat!"

The mice are in their holes,
  And there they hide by day;
But when 'tis still at night,
  They all come out to play.

They climb up on the shelves,
  And taste of all they please;
They drink the milk and cream,
  And eat the bread and cheese.

But if they hear the cat,
  At once they stop their fun;
In fright they seek their holes
  As fast as they can run.

Three Mice went into
  A hole to spin,
Puss came by,
  Puss peeped in;
What are you doing,
  My little old men?
We're weaving coats
  For gentlemen.
Shall I come and help you
  To wind up your threads?
Oh, no, Mrs. Pussy,
  You'd bite off our heads!

Says Pussy, "You are
  So wondrous wise
I love your whiskers
  And round black eyes;
Your house is the prettiest
  House I see.
And I think there is room
  For you and me."
The mice were so pleased
  That they opened the door,
And Pussy soon laid them
  All dead on the floor.

I am sitting by the fireside,
  Reading, and very still,
There comes a little sharp-eyed mouse,
  And run about he will.

He flies along the mantelpiece
  He darts beneath the fender;
It's just as well that Jane's not here,
  Or into fits he'd send her.

And now he's nibbling at some cake
  She left upon the table.
He seems to think I'm somebody
  To hurt a mouse unable.

Run, mousey, run! I hear the cat,
  She's scratching at the door,
Once she comes in, you'll have no chance
  Beneath her savage claw.

Run, mousey, run! I hear Jane's foot,
  She's coming up to bed,
If puss but makes a spring at you,
  Poor mousey, you'll be dead!

I'm only a poor little mouse, ma'am!
I live in the wall of your house, ma'am!
With a fragment of cheese, and a very few peas,
I was having a little carouse, ma'am!

No mischief at all I intend, ma'am!
I hope you will act as my friend, ma'am!
If my life you should take, many hearts it would break,
And the trouble would be without end, ma'am!

My wife lives in there in the crack, ma'am!
She's waiting foe me to come back, ma'am!
She hoped I might find a bit of rind,
Or the children their dinner will lack, ma'am!

I never was given to strife, ma'am!
(Don't look at that terrible knife, ma'am!)
The noise overhead that disturbs you in bed,
'T is the rats, I will venture my life, ma'am!

In your eyes I see mercy I'm sure, ma'am!
Oh, there's no need to open the door, ma'am!
I'll slip through the crack, and I'll never come back,
Oh I'll never come back any more, ma'am!

In a crack, near the cupboard,
  With dainties provided,
A certain young mouse
  With her mother resided;
So securely they lived,
  In that snug, quiet spot,
Any mouse in the land
  Might have envied their lot.

But one day the young mouse,
  Which was given to roam,
Having made an excursion
  Some way from her home,
On a sudden returned,
  With such joy in her eyes,
That her grey, sedate parent
  Expressed some surprise,

"Oh mother," said she,
  "The good folks of this house
I'm convinced, have not any
  Ill-will to a mouse;
And those tales can't be true
  You always are telling,
For they've been at such pains
  To construct us a dwelling.

"The floor is of wood,
  And the walls are of wires
Exactly the size that
  One's comfort requires;
And I'm sure that we there
  Shall have nothing to fear,
If ten cats, with kittens,
  At once should appear.

"And then they have made
  Such nice holes in the wall,
One could slip in and out,
  With no trouble at all;
But forcing one through
  Such rough crannies as these,
Always gives one's poor ribs
  A most terrible squeeze.

"But the best of all is,
  They've provided, as well,
A large piece of cheese,
  Of most exquisite smell;
'Twas so nice, I had put
  In my head to go through,
When I thought it my duty
  To come and fetch you."

"Ah, child," said the mother,
  "Believe, I entreat,
Both the cage and the cheese
  Are a terrible cheat;
Do not think all that trouble
  They took for our good,
They would catch us and kill us
  All there if they could.

"Thus they've caught and killed scores,
  And I never could learn,
That a mouse who once entered
  Did ever return."
Let young people mind
  What the old people say.
And, when danger is near them,
  Keep out of the way.

One Summer day the sun shone bright,
  Mid sweet flowers roved the bee,
And I wandered in a garden old
  Beside the deep blue sea.

But close at hand, a shady path,
  Beneath some beech trees wound,
And there. that sultry summer day,
  A pleasant seat I found.

Suddenly, just beside my chair,
  A little sound I heard;
A scratch upon the gravel path,
  As of a mouse or bird.

I turned my head; there, on the path,
 What strange sight did I see!
A little mouse, and in her mouth
  Another still more wee.

Softly she crept across the path,
  And then, her journey done,
In a hole beneath the green grass verge
  She laid her little one.

And back and forth from side to side,
  I watched her carry five
Sweet little mice, her own dear brood,
  Long tailed, and all alive.

She never wearied in her work,
  Yet oh! so small was she!
And thus, that bright, hot summer day
  She moved her nursery.

Dear mother mouse! My verse has told
  Your patient loving deed;
Methinks our boys and girls may learn
  Some lessons as they read.

                Francis E. Cooke

    A poor little mouse
     Had once made him a nest,
    And he fancied, the warmest,
     And safest, and best,
That a poor little mouse could enjoy;
    So snug and convenient,
      So out of the way.
    This poor little mouse
     And his family lay,
They fear'd neither pussy nor boy.

    It was in a store
     That was seldom in use,
    Where shavings and papers
     Were scattered in loose,
That this poor little mouse made his hole,
    But alas! Master Johnny
     Had seen him one day,
    As in a great fright
     He had scampered away,
With a piece of plum pudding he stole.

    As soon as young Johnny
     (Who, wicked and bad,
    No pitiful thoughts
     For dumb animals had)
Descried the poor fellow's retreat,
    He crept to the shavings
     And set them alight,
    And, before the poor mouse
     Could run off in its fright,
It was smother'd to death in the heat!

    Poor mouse! how it squeak'd
     I can't bear to relate,
    Nor how its poor little
     Ones hopp'd in the grate,
And died, one by one, in the flame!
    I should not much wonder
     To hear, that, some night,
    This wicked boy's bed-curtains
      Catching alight,
He suffered exactly the same.

                Ann Taylor

A little mouse crept out one day,
  When all was still about;
To dollie's house he took his way,
  The lady being out.

He skipped about with bead-bright eyes
  From table down to chair;
He thought the house was just the size
  For him to settle there.

He found some jelly cake so nice,
  This naughty little mouse;
He nibbled first, then in a trice
  'Twas gone from dollie's house.

He curl'd himself upon the floor,
  To have a little nap,
When suddenly upon the floor
  There came a fearful rap.

The mouse who had not left a crumb,
  With fear began to shake,
For dollie's mistress back had come
  To get her piece of cake.

She opened wide the little house,
  Her doll lay on her arm,
And when she spied the trembling mouse
  She cried out with alarm.

She tumbled back upon the ground,
  Her dear doll falling too,
While the mouse went rushing round,
  Not knowing what to do.

At last he tumbled down the stair,
  Then to his hole he flew;
And which did most the other scare
  They never, never knew.

In a tank at the foot of the hill
  Lived Mr. and Mrs. Frog,
At the head of the sparkling rill,
  By the side of a queachy bog;
And they had children ten—
  All froggies as yellow as gold,
Who loved to play on the fen,
  But they often were over-bold.

Now it fell out one bright day,
  As it never had done before,
When Father Frog was away
  A stickleback sailed to the door.
"Oh! Mrs. Frog," said he,
  "Your sister is very ill;
And much she wants to see
  You down at the water mill."

Then Mother frog showed her grief
  In such tears as you never saw;
And, having no handkerchief,
  She wiped her eyes with a paw.
Said she, "Now, froggies dear,
  You must not go to the fen:
There is no danger here,
  And I'll soon come back again!"

But the naughty little froggies,
Disobeyed their mother and went.

Then a duck, which had lazily swum
  For hours in a reedy pool,
Seeing the shadows come,
  And feeling the air grow cool.
With a "Quack, quack, quack," came out
  She meant, "It is time to sup!"
So finding the froggies about,
  She gobbled them quickly up.

So Mr. and Mrs. Frog,
  By the peeping stars made bold,
Came back by the queachy bog,
  To their froggies all yellow as gold.
They never saw them again—
  Alas! that it should be so.
They were told not to go to the fen;
  But the did not obey, you know.

                "Early Days"

    There was a Frog
    Lived in a bog—
A Frog of high degree—
    A stylish youth,
    And yet, forsooth,
A bachelor was he.

    He had not wed
    Because, he said,
He'd ne'er in all his life
    Seen in the bog
    A pollywog
He cared to make his wife.

    But one fine day,
    When drest up gay,
He passed a pretty house,
    And there beside
    The window spied
A most attractive mouse.

    He raised his hat,
    And gazing at
Miss Mouse, in suit of gray,
    He made a bow,
    Likewise a vow
To marry her straightway.

    When he was drest
    In scarlet vest,
And coat of velvet sheen
    With frills of lace,
    And sword in place,
His like was nowhere seen.

    His smile was bland,
    His style so grand,
He said with pride, "I know
    Miss Mouse so fair,
    Can find nowhere
So suitable a beau!

    "If she'll agree
    To live with me,
And be my faithful wife,
    Oh, she shall dine
    On dishes fine,
And lead an easy life."

    When he went by,
    Miss Mouse so shy,
Would hide her blushing face;
    But truth to tell
    Could see quite well
Through curtains of thin lace.

    And from her nook,
    Ah! many a look
She gave, with heart a-stir;
    And oft did she
    Confess that he
Was just the beau for her.

    At last so blue
    Poor froggie grew,
He went up to the house
    And rang the bell,
    In haste to tell
His love for Mistress Mouse.

    He passed the door,
    And on the floor
He knelt and kissed her hand,
    "Wilt marry me?"
    He asked, while she
Her burning blushes fanned.

    She answered "Yes,"
    As you may guess,
To Mister Frog's delight;
    His arm he placed
    Around her waist,
And joy was at its height.

    The wedding-day
    Was set straightway,
The town was all agog;
    And gifts, not few,
    Were sent unto
Miss Mouse and Mister Frog.

    And never yet
    Was banquet set,
In country or in town,
    With fare more rich
    Than that to which
The wedding guests sat down.

    And, after all,
    There was the ball,
For which the band was hired,
    And frogs and mice
    Were up in a trice,
And danced till their toes were tired.

Twenty froggies went to school,
Down beside a rushy pool;
Twenty little coats of green,
Twenty vests all white and clean,
"We must be in time," said they;
"First we study, then we play;
That is how we keep the rule
When we froggies go to school."

Master Bullfrog, grave and stern,
Called the classes in their turn;
Taught them how to nobly strive,
Likewise how to leap and dive;
From his seat upon the log
Showed them how to say, "Ker-chog!"
Also, how to dodge a blow
From the sticks which bad boys throw.

Twenty froggies grew up fast;
Bullfrogs they became at last;
Not one dunce among the lot,
Not one lesson they forgot.
Polished in a high degree,
As each froggie ought to be,
Now they sit on other logs,
Teaching other little frogs.