Tune—"Vagabond." James T. Molloy. (From second verse.)
Dirty, ragged, forlorn,
Saucepan attached to his tail,
Driven by many a stone,
He loudly his fate did bewail.
Cruelly and roughly
The boys around him crowd,
Shouting and laughing,
With their voices loud.
Pelted with mud,
The wretched creature stood
Appealing for help
From the boys rude.
Oh, how can one,
Boasting of any heart,
In such cruel sport
Ever take a part?
But mercy kind
Moved you to cry,
"Catch me you Cat
If you can; all may try."
Oh, what a chase
Therewith begun!
Every boy broke into a run;
They chased him o'er garden-wall,
By alley, store, and stall.
They snatch him, pull him, grab him, nab him. [Very fast.]
Oh, then to your grace
They brought him for francs five,
Bearing him proudly aloft,
A great deal more dead than alive.
Countess (who has listened eagerly). Bravo! bravo! Michel; it is a beautiful account of my Cat's rescue. I shall have it printed in gold letters on glazed paper.
Michel. Oh, thanks. Now you flatter me. But that reminds me. Father Lustucru gave me a letter for you this morning, which I forgot to deliver. [Presents letter on a salver.]
Countess. A letter? Ah! 'tis from my sister. [She reads.] Oh, Heaven! my sister is ill—has broken her leg—and writes to me to come to her. Michel, I faint. [She faints.]
Michel (fanning violently). Madame, madame, for your sister's sake, revive. [Applies salts.]
Countess (recovering). Now I am better; but, oh, Michel, to be thus torn from my home and my Cat, to rush to the suffering, is indeed sad.
Michel. I have no words with which to express my sympathy.