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.