A rat who lived in the field, A rat of little wit, Once grew tired of his father's house, And quietly left it. He left the field, the grain and wheat, Set out to travel, left his hole, And just as soon as he was out, "How large and spacious on the whole Is this great country spread about. Here are the Apeninnes, and there Caucasus." The smallest mole hill is a mountain. At the end of some days our traveller arrives At a certain canton where every oyster thrives, And our famed traveller turned very pale, Thinking he saw great vessels setting sail "Mercy," said he, "My father was a dunce, He did not dare to travel even once, While I have seen already, The maritime empire, And travelled to my heart's desire." From a certain learn'd man, The rat had heard of such things, And thinks he has seen all he can. Among the many oysters closed, There was one open, which reposed, Mouth gaping, in the sun, The learned, travelled man, The rat, approached, thinking to make An excellent repast, and began to take A bite at the fine oyster, plump and fat, Whereupon closing on our rat, The oyster caught him tight And held him with all its might.