The mice in council, once on a time, the mice aspired through deeds to glitter, despising every cat of either sex, they would the lives of cook and mistress vex what topic than a mouse's glory could be fitter to hear it.

Folk would strain their necks.

A council should be called, whither must come no sitter, whose tale was not of special length.

Tales were not wrong, if as the body long.

A mouse with well developed tails, a sound adviser, In all things wiser, than nibblers of less stately kind.

Here to extenuate, in honor, let us mention, That to a man's attire and beard, we give attention, When we are critics of his mind.

Twas held by free consent, and common feeling, that none but long tailed mice might tread the council room.

Thus, if in fight any had met her doom, as to her tale, there could be no appealing, taillessness was of folly, a revealing, or careless dealing, there was no other course to choose.

Tales lost, must warn the mice, no tales to lose.

So matters were arranged, and duly came the meeting.