To a Cat

Cat! who has[t] pass'd thy grand clima[c]teric,

      How many mice and rats hast in thy days

      Destroy'd?—How many tit-bits stolen? Gaze

With those bright languid segments green, and prick

Those velvet ears—but pr'ythee do not stick

      Thy latent talons in me—and upraise

      Thy gentle mew—and tell me all thy frays

Of fish and mice, and rats and tender chick:

Nay, look not down, nor lick thy dainty wrists

      For all the wheezy asthma,—and for all

Thy tail's tip is nick'd off—and though the fists

      Of many a maid has given thee many a maul,

Still is that fur as soft as when the lists

      In youth thou enter'dst on glass-bottled wall.