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The Spike or Victoria College Review October 1929

To A Mouse

page 24

To A Mouse

I see you there, O Mr. Mouse,
Through prison-bars a-peeping.
This conies of breaking into house
When decent folk are sleeping.

Nay, do not plead your innocence,
Caught as you are red-handed;
For that there can be no defence,
When such your guilt is branded.

For I am now your magistrate
With proper jurisdiction,
So in the interests of the State
I enter a conviction.

The same as judge I do affirm,
Before I pass a sentence
That might be for a lengthy term
With leisure for repentance,

Did I not feel the case too bad
For mere incarceration;
While nobody would be so mad
As to suggest probation.

Your life has been a life of crime,
Your livelihood is thieving,
And, if from that you've any time,
You spend it in receiving.

Perhaps you are not all to blame,
Your breed is only so-so;
The mouse inherits evil fame,
I have it from Lombroso.

I know you cannot read or write—
Your speech is hardly pidgin—
And, well, it would be futile quite
To ask you your religion.

And yet you once belonged to church,
A member poor, but honest,
Until your name you did besmirch
By feathering your own nest.

You sneaked behind the vestry door
And plundered the refection,
And left some relics on the floor
As clues to your detection.

Your raid upon the synagogue
Showed merely that you're low-bred
In damaging the Decalogue
And loading up with showbread.

And then apparently you found
The game was worth the candle,
And burgled, pilfered, robbed all round,
Till it became a scandal.

You stole the worker's common cheese,
The boss's Gorgonzola,
The labourer's lunch, the pauper's pease,
The vegetarian's kola.

You robbed the farmer of his crop,
The horse, of oats in manger,
It seemed that you would never stop
In spite of all the danger.

You ranged the houses of the land
From hall to humble whare,
You and your base confederate band
With many a fruitful foray.

What though the feline force pursue
That our fair land polices.
They're guardians of the peace, but you
Are guardians of the pieces.

I understand you to demur
At what account I'm giving;
You say you are a scavenger
And earn an honest living.

It might be, did I not know well
From personal relations,
That such is not the truth you tell;
Here are my observations:

A scavenger, no doubt, must take
What'er our life encumbers,
And in his calling oft may wake
Good people from their slumbers.

But you are in my room at night
To cut your cursed capers,
To squeak and scratch, and frisk and fight
And nibble at my papers.

One morn I to my anguish saw
My verses torn and tattered;
The verses you must go and gnaw
Were just the ones that mattered.

For they were written to my love
And written in such fashion,
As sure her Ladyship would move
With pity for my passion.

I might have e'en forgiven still,
For that you knew no better;
You might have thought it was a bill
Or just a common letter.

But I shall ne'er forget the day
My darling came to see me.
And I my fortune would essay,
For she was looking dreamy.

As I was fain to press my suit,
She screamed as if demented,
"A mouse!" 'twas you, you little brute,
Else might she have consented.

But there, alas! my chance was lost
And all was disillusion.
My love was nipped by numbing frost,
And all through your intrusion.

And from that time I've sworn a feud
To slay a foe so hated,
By all the cats that ever mewed
Till you're exterminated.

Meanwhile as judge I do decree
Your instant dissolution
And no injunction shall there be
To stay the execution.

—Justin J.