Thus did the Mouse, by custom tutor'd, oft
Evade the hostile paw; nor Cambria's sons
Had hope from their confederate of the war:
When strait, on th' utmost frontiers of their Land,
Where now Menevia the shrunk honours mourns
Of her divided mitre, of whose walls
Half-buried but an empty name remains,
Behold a Council summons'd. From each side
See Nobles, Fathers, and the vulgar throng
Of stench sulphureous, mix.
An ancient Sage,
Whose length of beard oft from his native hills
The goat with envy ey'd; his hands, his face
With scurf of ancient growth encrusted o'er;
Broken with years, against a post reclin'd,
(By Cambrian backs still shaken) in the midst
Stood visible to all, and with deep tone
These words precipitating, gutt'ral spake.
"Of open war we treat not, but sly theft —
"No foreign foe, but a too inmate guest
"(That heavier evil) summons us to meet.
"Still shall the bold insulter lord it thus,
"The tyrant Mouse? Rouse, aweful Fathers, rouse;
"Ye, to whose breasts your country's good is dear,
"By counsel end these horrors; and if aught
"Of hope remain, now lend propitious aid:
"So shall your glory grow, your names be known
"Immortal as CAIDWALADER'S in fame. "