rats came tumbling. 
    Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats,
    Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats,
    Grave old plodders, gay young friskers,
      Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,
    Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,
      Families by tens and dozens,
    Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives—­
    Followed the Piper for their lives. 
    From street to street he piped advancing,
    And step for step they followed dancing,
    Until they came to the river Weser
    Wherein all plunged and perished! 
    —­Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar,
    Swam across and lived to carry
    (As he, the manuscript he cherished)
    To Rat-land home his commentary: 
    Which was, “At the first shrill notes of the pipe,
    I heard a sound as of scraping tripe,
    And putting apples, wondrous ripe,
    Into a cider-press’s gripe: 
    And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards,
    And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards,
    And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks,
    And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks: 
    And it seemed as if a voice
    (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery
    Is breathed) called out, ’Oh rats, rejoice! 
    The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! 
    So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon,
    Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!’
    And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon,
    All ready staved, like a great sun shone
    Glorious scarce an inch before me,
    Just as methought it said, ‘Come, bore me!’
    —­I found the Weser rolling o’er me.”

VIII.

    You should have heard the Hamelin people
    Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple
    “Go,” cried the Mayor, “and get long poles,
    Poke out the nests and block up the holes! 
    Consult with carpenters and builders,
    And leave in our town not even a trace
    Of the rats!”—­when suddenly up the face
    Of the Piper perked in the market-place,
    With a, “First, if you please, my thousand guilders!”

IX.

    A thousand guilders!  The Mayor looked blue;
    So did the Corporation too. 
    For council dinners made rare havoc
    With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock;
    And half the money would replenish
    Their cellar’s biggest butt with Rhenish. 
    To pay this sum to a wandering fellow
    With a gipsy coat of red and yellow! 
    “Beside,” quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink,
    “Our business was done at the river’s brink;
    We saw with our eyes the vermin sink,
    And what’s dead can’t come to life, I think. 
    So, friend, we’re not the folks to shrink
    From the duty of giving you something to drink,
    And a matter of money to put in your poke;
    But as for the guilders, what we spoke
    Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. 
    Beside, our losses have made us thrifty. 
    A thousand guilders!  Come, take fifty!”