The Rape of the Trap. A Ballad, 1737

'TWAS in a land of learning,
The Muses' fav'rite city,
Such pranks of late
Were play'd by a rat,
As—tempt one to be witty.

All in a college study,
Where books were in great plenty,
This rat would devour
More sense in an hour
Than I could write—in twenty.

Corporeal food, 'tis granted,
Serves vermine less refin'd, Sir;
But this, a rat of taste,
All other rats surpass'd,
And he prey'd on the food of the mind, Sir.

His breakfast half the morning
He constantly attended;
And when the bell rung
For ev'ning song
His dinner scarce was ended!

He spar'd not ev'n heroics,
On which we poets pride us,
And would make no more
Of King Arthurs by the score,
Than—all the world beside does.

In books of geography,
He made the maps to flutter;
A river or a sea
Was to him a dish of tea,
And a kingdom bread and butter.

But if some mawkish potion
Might chance to overdose him,
To check its rage
He took a page
Of logic—to compose him—

A Trap, in haste and anger,
Was bought, you need not doubt on't,
And such was the gin,
Were a lion once got in,
He could not, I think, get out on't.

With cheese, not books, 'twas bated;
The fact—I'll not belie it—
Since none—I tell you that—
Whether scholar or rat,
Minds books when he has other diet.

But more of Trap and bait, Sir,
Why should I sing, or either?
Since the rat, who knew the sleight,
Came in the dead of night,
And dragg'd 'em away together.

Both Trap and bait were vanish'd
Thro' a fracture in the flooring,
Which tho' so trim
It now may seem
Had then—a dozen or more in.

Then answer this, ye Sages!
Nor deem I mean to wrong ye,
Had the rat, which thus did seize on
The Trap, less claim to reason
Than many a scull among ye?

Dan Prior's Mice, I own it,
Were vermine of condition;
But this rat, who merely learn'd
What rats alone concern'd,
Was the greater politician

That England's topsyturvy
Is clear from these mishaps, Sir;
Since Traps, we may determine,
Will no longer take our vermine,
But vermine take our Traps, Sir.

Let sophs, by rats infested,
Then trust in cats to catch 'em,
Lest they grow as learn'd as we
In our studies, where, d'ye see,
No mortal sits to watch 'em.

Good luck betide our captains,
Good luck betide our cats, Sir,
And grant that the one
May quell the Spanish Don,
And the other destroy our rats, Sir.