CQWPER'S THREE TAME HARES 51 



Though duly from my hand he took 



His pittance every night, 

 He did it with a jealous look, 



And, when he could, would bite. 



His diet was of wheaten bread, 



And milk, and oats, and straw, 

 Thistles, or lettuces instead, 



With sand to scour his maw. 



On twigs of hawthorn he regaled, 



On pippins' russet peel ; 

 And, when his juicy salads failed, 



Sliced carrot pleased him well. 



A Turkey carpet was his lawn, 



Whereon he loved to bound, 

 To skip and gambol like a fawn, 



And swing his rump around. 



His frisking was at evening hours, 



For then he lost his fear ; 

 But most before approaching showers, 



Or when a storm drew near. 



Eight years and five round- rolling moons 



He thus saw steal away, 

 Dozing out all his idle noons, 



And every night at play. 



I kept him for his humour's sake, 



For he would oft beguile 

 My heart of thoughts that made it ache, 



And force me to a smile. 



But now, beneath this walnut-shade 



He finds his long, last home, 

 And waits, in snug concealment laid, 



Till gentler Puss shall come. 



He, still more aged, feels the shocks 



From which no care can save, 

 And, partner once of Tiney's box, 



Must soon partake his grave.] 



