Many of the original titles given by Browning to the poems in this collection, as with its predecessor Dramatic Lyrics, are different from the ones he later gave them in various editions of his collected works. Since this book was originally self-published in a very small edition, these poems really only came to prominence in the later collections.IHamelin Town's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city;The river Weser, deep and wide, Washes its wall on the southern side;A pleasanter spot you never spied; But, when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin, was a pity.IIRats!They fought the dogs and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeakingIn fifty different sharps and flats.IIIAt last the people in a body To the Town Hall came flocking"'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy, And as for our Corporation--shockingTo think we buy gowns lined with ermineFor dolts that can't or won't determineWhat's best to rid us of our vermin!You hope, because you're old and obese, To find in the furry civic robe ease?Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a rackingTo find the remedy we're lacking, Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!"At this the Mayor and CorporationQuaked with a mighty consternation.IVAn hour they sat in council, At length the Mayor broke silence: "For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell, I wish I were a mile hence!It's easy to bid one rack one's brain--I'm sure my poor head aches again, I've scratched it so, and all in vain.Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!"Just as he said this, what should hapAt the chamber door but a gentle tap?"Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?"(With the Corporation as he sat, Looking little though wondrous fat;Nor brighter was his eye, nor moisterThan a too-long-opened oyster, Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinousFor a plate of turtle green and glutinous)"Only a scraping of shoes on the mat?Anything like the sound of a ratMakes my heart go pit-a-pat!"V"Come in!" the Mayor cried, looking bigger: And in did come the strangest figure!His queer long coat from heel to headWas half of yellow and half of red, And he himself was tall and thin, With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, But lips where smiles went out and in;There was no guessing his kith and kin: And nobody could enough admireThe tall man and his quaint attire.Quoth one: "It's as my great-grandsire, Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone, Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"