A poor little mouse
Had once made him a nest,
And he fancied, the warmest,
And safest, and best,
That a poor little mouse could enjoy;
So snug and convenient,
So out of the way.
This poor little mouse
And his family lay,
They fear'd neither pussy nor boy.
It was in a store
That was seldom in use,
Where shavings and papers
Were scattered in loose,
That this poor little mouse made his hole,
But alas! Master Johnny
Had seen him one day,
As in a great fright
He had scampered away,
With a piece of plum pudding he stole.
As soon as young Johnny
(Who, wicked and bad,
No pitiful thoughts
For dumb animals had)
Descried the poor fellow's retreat,
He crept to the shavings
And set them alight,
And, before the poor mouse
Could run off in its fright,
It was smother'd to death in the heat!
Poor mouse! how it squeak'd
I can't bear to relate,
Nor how its poor little
Ones hopp'd in the grate,
And died, one by one, in the flame!
I should not much wonder
To hear, that, some night,
This wicked boy's bed-curtains
Catching alight,
He suffered exactly the same.