Make ends meet

bound he gave, Nothing the hapless brute could save, As if his frame love

By torture driven, in open day, The kitchen he invaded, Convulsed upon the

hearth he lay, With anguish sorely jaded; The poisoner laugh'd, Ha! ha! quoth

she, His life is ebbing fast, I see, As if his frame love wasted.

How the dull boors exulting shout! Poison for the poor rats to strew A fine

They, as it seems, stand well with you!

Old bald - pate! with the paunch profound! The rat's mishap hath tamed his

nature; For he his counterpart hath found Depicted in the swollen creature.