Plenteous and soft thy bed shall be, 

 Heaped up in basket warm and snug, 



And thou shalt stretch luxuriously, 

 Just in the centre of the rug ; 



And none shall chase thee thence, nor chide 

 As now thy restless wanderings — no ; 



Scratch when thou wilt, the door flung wide 

 Shall yield thee passage to and fro. 



Just here, thy basket they shall bring, 



Before the early sunbeams fly ; 

 Where, after many a measured ring, 



Coiled up at last, thou lov'st to lie. 



And never shall thy poor dim eyes 

 For tempting morsel ask in vain — 



Never, if I can help it, rise 



In thine old heart one jealous pain. 



Well ! art thou satisfied, old friend ? 



Are all thy foolish fancies fled ? 

 " Ay, mistress ! till " I comprehend ; 



Till next time puss is coaxed and fed. 



But come, we've worn this theme to tatters, 

 And all my logics thrown away ; 



So let's discourse on other matters — 

 And first — I've read a tale to-day. 

 150 



