The Rat Retired From The World.

The sage Levantines have a tale      About a rat that weary grew      Of all the cares which life assail,      And to a Holland cheese withdrew.      His solitude was there profound,      Extending through his world so round.      Our hermit lived on that within;      And soon his industry had been      With claws and teeth so good,      That in his novel hermitage,      He had in store, for wants of age,      Both house and livelihood.      What more could any rat desire?      He grew fair, fat, and round.      'God's blessings thus redound      To those who in His vows retire.'[1]      One day this personage devout,      Whose kindness none might doubt,      Was ask'd, by certain delegates      That came from Rat-United-States,      For some small aid, for they      To foreign parts were on their way,      For succour in the great cat-war.      Ratopolis beleaguer'd sore,      Their whole republic drain'd and poor,      No morsel in their scrips they bore.      Slight boon they craved, of succour sure      In days at utmost three or four.      'My friends,' the hermit said,      'To worldly things I'm dead.      How can a poor recluse      To such a mission be of use?      What can he do but pray      That God will aid it on its way?      And so, my friends, it is my prayer      That God will have you in his care.'      His well-fed saintship said no more,      But in their faces shut the door.      What think you, reader, is the service      For which I use this niggard rat?      To paint a monk? No, but a dervise.      A monk, I think, however fat,      Must be more bountiful than that.