“You’ll find, on the word of a Mouse,
  Whom hope has for ever forsaken,
The following things in my house,
  Which I have unlawfully taken: 

“A cork, that was soaked in the beer,
  Which I nibbled until I was merry;
Some kernels of corn from the ear,
  The skin and the stone of a cherry:—­

“Some hemp-seed I took from the bird,
  And found most deliriously tasted,
While safe in my covert, I heard
  Its owner complain that ’twas wasted:—­

“You’ll find a few cucumber seeds,
  Which I thought, if they could but be hollowed,
Would answer to string out for beads;
  So the inside of all I have swallowed:—­

“A few crumbs of biscuit and cheese,
  Which I thought might a long time supply me
With luncheon—­some rice and split peas,
  Which seemed well prepared to keep by me:—­

“A cluster of curls which I stole
  At night from a young lady’s toilet,
And made me a bed of it whole,
  As tearing it open would spoil it;—­

“And as, in a long summer day
  I’d time both or reading and spelling,
I gnawed up the whole of a play,
  And carried it home to my dwelling.

“I wish you’d set fire to my place;
  And pray you at once to despatch me,
That none of my enemy’s race,
  In the form of Miss Kitty, may catch me!”

Disgrace thus will follow on vice,
  Although for a while it be hidden;
When children, or kittens, or mice,
  Will do what they know is forbidden.

=Jemmy String=

I knew a little heedless boy,
  A child that seldom cared,
If he could get his cake and toy,
  How other matters fared.

He always bore upon his foot
  A signal of the thing,
For which, on him his playmates put
  The name of Jemmy String.

No malice in his heart was there;
  He had no fault beside,
So great as that of wanting care. 
  To keep his shoe-strings tied.

You’d often see him on the run,
  To chase the geese about,
While both his shoe-ties were undone,
  With one end slipping out.

He’d tread on one, then down he’d go,
  And all around would ring
With bitter cries, and sounds of woe,
  That came from Jemmy String.

And oft, by such a sad mishap,
  Would Jemmy catch a hurt;
The muddy pool would catch his cap,
  His clothes would catch the dirt!

Then home he’d hasten through the street,
  To tell about his fall;
While, on his little sloven feet,
  The cause was plain to all.

For while he shook his aching hand,
  Complaining of the bruise,
The strings were trailing through the sand
  From both his loosened shoes.

One day, his father thought a ride
  Would do his children good;
But Jemmy’s shoe-strings were untied,
  And on the stairs he stood.

In hastening down to take his place
  Upon the carriage seat,
Poor Jemmy lost his joyous face;
  Nor could he keep his feet.