To a Mouse (which had eaten the leaves of my lexicon)
How darest thou, soft-footed elf
With tiny open jaws
To cram such crooken syllables
Into thy greedy maw?
Would not some common household words
Such joy to thee afford
Or crumbs that fall at supper-time
From off our humble board?
The woodman yonder with his axe
Looks on this book with dread.
Pronounces it an oracle
And shakes his hoary head
He would not mar this mystic page
'Twould cripple his belief:
But thou, fur-covered sinner, com'st
And eat'st it leaf by leaf.
What strange mice-spells thy deeds will wake
When in your mossy nook
Surrounded with thy mute compeers,
Thou talkest of my book!
Will not thy grandsire shake his head
To hear what thou hast done?
Disturb a poet in his dreams!
O thou degenerate son.
Take care, word-eating pilferer,
What learned meals thou'rt at.
If 1 catch thee nibbling books,
I'll give thee to the cat
Some two-legged mice, like these, sleek rogue
Climb where thev have no right.
Eat what belongs to other men.
And vanish out of sight.
