A PRETTY story I will tell,

Of Nib, a little Mouse,

Who took delight, when none where near,

To skip about the house.

Her little nose could sniff and smell

Where all good things were kept,

And in the pantry well she knew

That mistress Pussy slept.

But, notwithstanding, in she crept,

And on the shelf she found

A Christmas cake, the top of which

Was by a castle crowned.

The subject of the present cake

Was Windsor’s mighty walls;

With turrets, windows, standard too,

And entrance to the halls.

Why, here within such walls as these,

Thought Mousey, I could dwell;

And should the Cat lay siege to them,

Defend myself right well.

So, with her little teeth, which served

For pickaxe and for spade,

She gnawed right through the gothic door,

And thus an entrance made.

Then climbed the turret, which she chose

Her residence to make;

And thought to leave it now and then,

And feast upon the cake.

All this occurred on Christmas eve,

And next came Christmas day;

And then some little folks arrived,

To eat, and drink, and play.

Right merry are the little folks,

And what a noise they make,

When Windsor castle they behold,

Displayed upon the cake.

The turrets and the walls they view,

The cannon, too, admire;

The soldiers ready to present,

And then—pop!—pop!—to fire.

On this, when they had long enough

All exercised their wit,

They scrutinised the cake, and wished

To taste a bit of it.

...

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