Get out of my hut, you mice who hug the shadows!
You mice will find no fodder in Leonidas's crock.
The old man's fine with two barley loaves, if there's salt.
My forefathers lived this way, and I heed their example.
So why scrabble in my corners, treat-seeking
where prandial tidbits are never spilled?
Go on to houses that aren't so frugal
where sustenance is yours to scuttle away with
