He knew a mouse was not a rat.
One day, as I am certified,
He took a whim and fairly died;
And, I am told by men of sense,
He never has been living since.
There was an old woman toss’d up in a basket,
Nineteen times as high as the moon,
Where she was going I couldn’t but ask it,
For in her hand she carried a broom.
“Old woman, old woman, old woman,” quoth I,