A very grandiloquent Goat

      Sat down to a gay table d’hôte;

      He ate all the corks,

      The knives and the forks,

      Remarking: “On these things I dote.”

      Then, before his repast he began,

      While pausing the menu to scan,

      He said: “Corn, if you please,

      And tomatoes and pease,

      I’d like to have served in the can.”

      A fable told by La Fontaine,

      Two centuries or more ago,

      Describes some rats who would arraign

      A cat, their direst foe,

      Who killed so many rats

      And caused the deepest woe,

      This Catiline of cats.

      The poor rats were at their wits’ end

      Their homes and families to defend;

      And as a last resort

      They took the case to court.

      It seems they called a caucus wise

      Of rats of every age and size,

      And then their dean,

      With sapient mien,

      A very Solon of a rat,

      Said it was best to bell the cat.

      The quaint old tale goes on to tell

      How this plan would have worked quite well,

      But, somehow, flaws

      Appeared, because

      No one would hang the bell.

      Though there the ancient fable ends,

      Later report the tale extends,

      No longer is the truth withheld;

      Developments appear,

      And so you have it here.

      For the first time

      Set down in rhyme

      Just how that cat was belled.

      The council, as ’twas getting late,

      Was just about to separate,

      When suddenly a rat arose

      Who said he could a plan propose

      Which would, he thought, succeed

      And meet their urgent need.

      Now as this rat was very small,

      And had no dignity at all,

      Although his plan was well advised,

      We really need not be surprised

      That all the rats of riper years

      Expressed the gravest doubts and fears;

      Till suddenly

      He said, said he,

      “If you will leave it all to me,

      I will avow

      Three days from now

      That you shall all be free.”

      The solemn council then adjourned.

      Each rat to home and fireside turned;

      But each shook his wise head

      And to his neighbor said:

      “It is a dangerous job, in truth,

      Though it seems naught to headstrong youth.”

      Now young Sir Rat we next behold,

      With manner brave and visage bold,

      Go marching down

      To London town,

      Where wondrous things are sold.

      We see him stop

      At a large shop,

      And with the bland clerk’s courteous aid

      This was the purchase that he made:

      A bicycle of finest make,

      With modern gear and patent brake,

      Pedometer, pneumatic tire,

      And spokes that looked like silver wire,

      A lantern bright

      To shine at night,

      Enamel finish, nickel plate,

      And all improvements up to date.

      Said sly Sir Rat: “It suits me well,

      Especially that sweet-toned bell.”

      The shades of night were falling fast

      When Sir Rat turned toward home at last.

      The neighbors watched him as he passed

      And said: “What is that queer-shaped thing?

      Surely that can’t be made to ring.”

      Sir Rat went on, nor stayed

      To hear the jests they made;

      And just outside the old cat’s gate

      He stopped and boldly braved his fate,

      For if that cat

      Should smell a rat

      How quickly he’d come out and catch him,

      And with what gusto he’d despatch him!

      Sir Rat, against the picket-fence

      Leaned the machine, then hurried hence,

      And hid himself with glee,

      And waited breathlessly

      To see what that

      Cantankerous cat

      Would say, when in the twilight dim

      He saw that brightly shining rim.

      Sir Rat, though hidden quite,

      And safely out of sight,

      Had scarcely time to wink his eye,

      When Mr. Cat came sauntering by.

      “Ha! Ha!” said he,

      “What’s this I see,

      A bicycle! and just my size!

      Well, this, indeed, is a surprise!

      I’ll confiscate

      This treasure great;

      How quickly I’ll fly o’er the ground

      When I pursue my hunting round!”

      He mounted it with eager haste,

      It suited well his sporting taste;

      He guided it at will,

      And used the brake with skill,

      He grasped the handle-bars, and then—