In antiquity, this story was often attributed to Homer. Although the poem is almost certainly not Homeric, its origins remain unclear, with some dating it to the fifth century BC and others to the early Roman Empire. The inspiration for the tale is Aesop’s fable of the mouse and the frog (see previous story). A frog, the fable goes, promised to teach a mouse to swim by binding his leg to his. Sadly, the mouse drowned, and in his dying breath threatened to take revenge on the frog from beyond the grave. True to his word, a bird swooped down and snatched the dead mouse before gobbling up the frog still tethered to his corpse. The author of the Battle of Frogs and Mice clearly knew Aesop’s fable but decided to take it in his own direction.

Once upon a time, a thirsty mouse escaped the weasel’s danger

and then lowered his greedy chin down to a pond

to take pleasure in the honey-sweet water. A pond-loving frog,

a big-talker, saw him and uttered something like this:

“Friend, who are you? From where have you come to our shore?

Who sired you?

Tell me everything truly so I don’t think you’re a liar.

If I consider you a worthy friend, I’ll take you home,

where I will give you many fine gifts of friendship.

I am King Bellowmouth and I am honored

throughout the pond as leader of frogs for all days.

My father Mudman raised me up after he had sex

with Watermistress along the banks of the Eridanus.

I see that you are noble and brave beyond the rest,

and also a scepter-bearing king and a warrior in battles.

Come closer and tell me of your lineage.”

Then Crumbthief answered and spoke:

“Why do you seek out my lineage? It’s known

to all men, gods and flying things in the sky.

I am known as Crumbthief. I am the son

of great-hearted Bread nibbler and my mother Mill-licker,

who was daughter of King Hamnibbler.

She birthed me in a hidey-hole and nourished me with food

like figs and nuts and all kinds of choice sweets.

How could you make me your friend when our nature is so different?

Your life is in the water—but it is my custom

to nibble away at the foods of men. And I never miss out

on thrice-kneaded bread in the well-rounded basket.

Nor does a long-robed flat cake dressed out with plenty sesame and cheese

ever escape me. Neither does a ham-slice, a white-robed liver

nor just-curdled cheese from sweet-milk,

nor the holy honey-cake which even the gods desire,

nor the things cooks carve out for mortals’ feasts

when they season the dishes with every kind of spice.

I have never fled the dread song of war

but instead I head straight into the danger and join the forefighters.

I don’t fear people, even though they have such great size;