“He had seen the young scapegraces get in and out.”
The land mouse, the water, and long-tail’d mouse, too,
Tiny field mouse, that turn’d up nose vixen the shrew,
The harvest mouse, fresh from a settler’s rick,
Were condemn’d by the great ones as not of their clique;
These reclined round a mole hill, and each dipp’d his paw
In a cocoa-nut bowl fill’d with rice, “en pillau.”
And the harvest mouse took most exceeding great pains
To squeak them a stanza in honour of grains.