Upon the shore, a mile or more / From traffic and confusion,
An oyster dwelt, because he felt / A longing for seclusion;
Said he: "I love the stillness of / This spot. It’s like a cloister.:
(These words I quote because, you note, / They rhyme so well with oyster.)
A prying rat, believing that / She needed change of diet,
In search of such disturbed this much- / To-be-desired quiet.
To say the least, this tactless beast / Was apt to rudely roister:
She tapped his shell, and called him – well, / A name that hurt the oyster.
The latter’s pride was sorely tried, / He thought of what he could say,
Reflected what the common lot / Of vulgar molluscs would say;
Then caught his breath, grew pale as death, / And as his brow turned moister,
Began to close and nipped her nose! / Superb, dramatic oyster!
We note with joy that hoi polloi / Whom maidens bite the thumb at,
Are apt to try some weak reply / To things they should be dumb at.
THE MORAL, then, for crafty men / Is: When a maid has voiced her
Contemptuous heart, don’t think you’re smart, / But shut up – like the oyster.
