Caught at last in wiry house,
Sits that most audacious mouse,
Who, with many a nightly antic,
Drove poor Mamma Fittig frantic,—
Rioting, with paws erratic,
From the cellar to the attic.
This event to Plish and Plum
Was a long-sought gaudium;
For the word was: "Stu-boys! take him!
Seize the wicked grinder—shake him!"
Soft! a refuge mousey reaches
In a leg of Peter's breeches.
Through the leg-tube Plish pursues him,
Plum makes sure he shall not lose him.
Nip! the mousey with his tooth
Stings the smeller of the youth.
Plish essays to pull him clear;
Nip! the plague's on Plish's ear.
See! they run heels over head,
Into neighbor's garden-bed.
Kritze-kratze! what will be—
Come, sweet flower-plot, of thee?
At that moment Madam Mieding,
With fresh oil, her lamp is feeding;
And her heart comes near to breaking,
With those pests her garden wrecking.
Indignation lends her wings,
And the oil-can, too, she brings.
Now, with mingling joy and wrath,
She gives each a shower-bath—
First to Plish and then to Plum,
Shower-bath of petroleum!
Of the effect that might be wrought,
Madam Mieding had not thought.
But what presently took place,
Right before this lady's face,
Made her shut her eyes, so dazed
That she smiled like one half crazed,—
Drew a heavy sigh, and soon
Gasped and sank down in a swoon.
Paul and Peter, hard and cool,
Heed not much the Golden Rule.
Suffering, stretched beside the way
Never once disturbs their play.
"Bad enough!" says Sly; "he! he!
Shocking bad! but not for me!"