Or clap some musty, antiquated crust,
Between the fingers of the man of dust?
The latter, doubtless, and it so fell out;
Turning, with ill-dissembled scorn, about,
The lady-baker hardly deigned to drop
Into his palm the patriarch of the shop;
A venerable roll, a fixture there—
A household nest-egg of the boulangère.
Here, a domestic mouse had, long ago
(Soon after it was dough),