Another came who knew her well,
Who sat with her below the pine
And with her through the meadow moved,
And underneath the purpling vine
She sang to him the song I loved.
N. G. Shepherd.
Mrs. Crupp had indignantly assured him that there wasn’t room to swing a cat there; but, as Mr. Dick justly observed to me, sitting down on the foot of the bed, nursing his leg, “You know, Trotwood, I don’t want to swing a cat. I never do swing a cat. Therefore, what does that signify to me!”
Dickens (David Copperfield).