HAVE A READ AT THESE THREE POEMS

(Note: Watch out for the clues.. Who is the mystery

character?)

 

1. T S Eliot – Macavity – The Mystery Cat

2. Mary Howitt – The Spider and the Fly

3. Edward Lear – The Owl and the Pussy Cat

  

 

The Owl and the Pussy Cat
Edward Lear

The Owl and the Pussy Cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
“O lovely Pussy, O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!” Pussy said to the Owl, “You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?”
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose. ”Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?” Said the Piggy, “I will.”
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon

  

 

 

 

The Spider and the Fly
By Mary Howitt

Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly, 
‘Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy; 
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair, 
And I’ve a many curious things to shew when you are there.” 
Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “to ask me is in vain, 
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.” ”I’m sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high; 
Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the Spider to the Fly. 
“There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin, 
And if you like to rest awhile, I’ll snugly tuck you in!” 
Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “for I’ve often heard it said, 
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!” Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, ” Dear friend what can I do, 
To prove the warm affection I ‘ve always felt for you? 
I have within my pantry, good store of all that’s nice; 
I’m sure you’re very welcome — will you please to take a slice?” 
“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “kind Sir, that cannot be, 
I’ve heard what’s in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!” 

“Sweet creature!” said the Spider, “you’re witty and you’re wise, 
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes! 
I’ve a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf, 
If you’ll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself.” 
“I thank you, gentle sir,” she said, “for what you ‘re pleased to say, 
And bidding you good morning now, I’ll call another day.” 

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den, 
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again: 
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly, 
And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly. 
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing, 
“Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing; 
Your robes are green and purple — there’s a crest upon your head; 
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!” 

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly, 
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by; 
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew, 
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue – 
Thinking only of her crested head — poor foolish thing! At last, 
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast. 
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den, 
Within his little parlour — but she ne’er came out again! 

And now dear little children, who may this story read, 
To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne’er give heed: 
Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye, 
And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.

Macavity  – The Mystery Ca

By T S Eliot 

 

Macavity’s a Mystery Cat: he’s called the Hidden Paw–

For he’s the master criminal who can defy the Law.

He’s the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad’s despair

For when they reach the scene of crime–Macavity’s not there!

Macavity, Macavity, there’s no on like Macavity,

He’s broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.

His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,

And when you reach the scene of crime–Macavity’s not there!

You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air–

But I tell you once and once again, Macavity’s not there!

Macavity’s a ginger cat, he’s very tall and thin;

You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.

His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly doomed;

His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.

He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;

And when you think he’s half asleep, he’s always wide awake.

Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,

For he’s a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.

You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square–

But when a crime’s discovered, then Macavity’s not there!

He’s outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)

And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard’s.

And when the larder’s looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,

Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke’s been stifled,

Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair–

Ay, there’s the wonder of the thing! Macavity’s not there!

And when the Foreign Office finds a Treaty’s gone astray,

Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,

There may be a scap of paper in the hall or on the stair–

But it’s useless of investigate–Macavity’s not there!

And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:

“It must have been Macavity!”–but he’s a mile away.

You’ll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,\Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.

Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macacity,

There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.

He always has an alibit, or one or two to spare:

And whatever time the deed took place–MACAVITY WASN’T THERE!

And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known

(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)

Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time

Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

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