There's nothing in the world
So artful as a mouse,
Because he bides his time
Till he can rouse the house.
He'll rush between the wainscot –
The good man hears a ghost;
The wife discusses a brimstone smell
And the baby's cry is a host.
The servants cluster in a group
To shrieking are beguiled;
The Babby springs his rattle hard,
Till the neighbourhood is wild.
The man lets in his neighbour's cat,
The mouse is on the skip;
Then sleep reigns o'er the house again;
E'en Bobby got his tip.
Framed