All The Noblemen Besides
The LEAST WEASEL.
Did chance upon some ers of mine.
No stoat simple, nay was this,
As they faced him with a hiss.
Away with ye, he did decree,
And moaned a dreadful groan,
Yet quite the noblemans' despite,
Of him they made a mockery.
I've weasels in my pantaloons!
The noble raised outcries,
And for those of you who can't surmise,
I despise these minks of larger size.
Many a man came hurrying
As the fellow danced in the courts
'I hardly enjoy ferrets scurrying,'
he cried,'Scurrying about my shorts.'
Did I walk past his shop.
Well aware, I walked within
To take great care of him.
Yet in shining glory did the baker come,
Again to outwit me
To sell a pastry, of ferret fried,
And then collect his fee.
So now I had a weasel cake,
No common ermine tart,
Of finest martin meat within
And a doughy, sweet without.
With a flagon of Tab, I ate thereof
In hopes my hunger slake,
A bite I took, so now hear of
This treat of heavenly bake.
The taste divine, it touched my heart,
So great was my delight,
My cackle mad, for I was glad
I'd killed the dog of fright.
So now I tell you, cats to bones,
A truth that I must share.
This treat so fair, you must take care,
Partake in weasel cake!
