Читать книгу The Jingle Book - Wells Carolyn - Страница 19

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—