Nay, my lord, but to buy food are thy servants come.

Rats!

They fought the dogs, and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cook’s own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men’s Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women’s chats, fallen-pious

By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats!

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