With the light tremor of her gentle pur.
But what sad music fills the quiet hall
If on her back a feline rival fall!
And oh! what noises shake the tranquil house,
If old Self-interest cheats her of a mouse!
Thou, O my country! hast thy foolish ways,
Too apt to pur at every stranger’s praise:
But if the stranger touch thy modes or laws,
Off goes the velvet and out come the claws!
And thou, Illustrious! but too poorly paid