Hadst thou but lived on rats and mice,
Thou hadst been living still, poor puss.
Curst be the taste, howe'er refined,
That prompts us for such joys to wish,
And curst the dainty where we find
Destruction lurking in the dish.
FIRE
A Riddle
The loftiest cedars I can eat,
Yet neither paunch nor mouth have I,