Eust. There roar'd the wrathful mouse! You squeaking braggart,
Whom hunger has made vent'rous, who would thrust
Your starveling nose out to the cat's fell gripe,
That watches round the cranny you lie snug in,
Nibble your scraps; be thankful, and keep quiet.
Thou rail on hunger! why, 'twas hunger bore thee;
'Twas hunger rear'd thee; fixing, in thy cradle,
Her meagre stamp upon thy weazel visage;
And, from a child, that half starved face of thine