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 his 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.
W. Cowper.
[ BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE]
It fell about the Lammas tide, When the muir-men win their hay, The doughty Earl of Douglas rode Into England, to catch a prey.