The Last Sayings OF A MOUSE Lately starved in a CUP-BOARD.  
As they were taken, in Short-Hand, by a zealous RAT-CATCHER, who list'ned at the Key-hole of the Cup-board Door.  
An Abuse to Sheriff bethel for keeping no house.  

WRetch that I am!— and is it come to This?  
O short continuance of Earthly Bliss!  
Did I, for this, forsake my country Ease,  
My Liberty, my Bacon, Beans, and Pease?  
Call ye me This the Breeding of the Town,  
Which my young Master bragged when he came down?  
Fool that I was!— I heard my Father say,  
( A Reverend Mouse he was, and his Beard gray)  
Young Hunt-crum, mark me well, you needs must rome,  
And leave me and your Mother here at home;  
Great is your Spirit, at high food you aim,  
But have a care— believe not lying famed;  
Vast Bodies oft are moved by slender Springs,  
And great Men, and great Tables are two things;  
Assure thyself all is not Gold that shines,  
He that looks always fat, not always dines  
For I have seen One strut in a laced Cloak,  
And at the same time heard his Belly croak.  
By sad Experience how I find too well,  
Old Hunt-crum was an arrant Sidrophel.  
And must I dy? and is there no Relief?  
No Cheese, though I give over thoughts of Beef?  
Where is grave Madge, and brisk Grimalkin now?  
Before whose feet our Race was wont to bow!  
No Owl, no Cat to end my woeful dayes?  
No Gresham Engine my lean Corps to squeeze?  
I'd rather fall to Foes a noble Prey,  
Than squeek my Soul out under Lock and Key.  
What's This?— a pissing Candle's latter end?  
My dear-beloved Countrey-Save-all Friend?  
Thou dreadful Emblem of Mortality,  
Inglorious Affront to Life and me!  
O barbarous Drollery of my cruel Fate!  
This shadow of a Comfort comes too late:  
I faint— What's this? a Wafer?— Good again!  
What mean the Fates thus to prolong my pain?  

Though Mice of greater Quality than I  
Can eat such things, and be content to die,  
Give me a morsel of good Bread, I cry.   
And you my brethren Mice, if any be  
As yet unstarv'd, in all our Family;  
From your obscure Retreats, rise and appear,  
To you, or to your Ghosts, I now draw near:  
To my original Dust I hast apace,  
Observe my hollow Eyes, and meager Face;  
And learn from me the sad Reverse of Fate,  
'tis better to be Innocent than Great.  
Good Consciences and Bellies full, say I,  
Exceeds the Pomp that onely feeds the Eye:  
farewell— You see( my Friends) that knew me once  
pampered and smooth, reduced to skin and bones,  
Poor as a Church-mouse!— O I faint! I die!  
Fly, fly from Cat in shape of Famine, fly:  

Whilst at my Death I my Ambition rue,  
In this my Cup-board and my Coffin too;  
farewell to Victuals, Greatness, and to You.     

Printed for S. P. Q. L. 1681.