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Catoninetales

A Domestic Epic: By Hattie Brown: A young lady of colour lately deceased at the age of 14 [i.e. W. J. Linton]

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THE FIGHT WITH THE DOG
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THE FIGHT WITH THE DOG

By biting and scratching dogs and cats come together. Proverb.

When we got home from his funeral
Kok Robyn came from the door:
Quoth he — I know I have lost a life,
But my quoter says 8 lives more;
So, rubbing his ears against our legs,
Went purring our steps before.
And now would you learn how Kok Robyn
Again hath lost his life,
It was all along of his hob-nobbin'
With a lady not his wife.
Love like Atropos' scissors can shear:
Though my verse requires a knife.
This Lady Katte was a nigh neighbour,
A Bywater by name;
Wherefore it happen'd that by water
Our Kat his end became.
As well this end did him become:
May my taile prove the same!

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Kok Robyn, I'll own, had a character
For wandering out o' nights,
Whereat no doubt, if some were glad,
Some might not like such flights.
But who can stand in the window way
Of an honest Kat's delights?
That ugliest Dog of Smith's you know,
Half bloodhound and half bull:
He'd watch'd to see sweet Robyn go,
And he promised him to pull.
O the ways of this unkinder dog
Are verily sorrowfull.
Kok Robyn climbs to the top of the fence,
In the smile of the honey moon;
Amuses his love with his mews and miaouls,
Nor thinks to be maul'd so soon.
'Twas sweet to listen, his pleasant voice
Discoursing to such a tune.
Very lightly down he alighted thence,
But ere he could touch the ground,
Between a brace of wide-gaping jaws
He met with a toothsome wound.
Never he dream'd that a dog of choice
Would be prowling there around.
Yet brave as a lion our darling turn'd
A spirit inform'd his paws,
His catly heart within him burn'd,
In the foe he flung his claws;

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A spit between the bark and the would,
And then — terrific pause.
And away and away over fence and wall
He flew, and the blacksmith after,
With many a stumble and many a fall,
And a roar that was not of laughter.
Night heard the howl and the caterwaul
And the sky-roof shook, each rafter.
And over the fields to the river-side
The Dog and the dogg'd Cat sped,
All hidden in wounds too wide to hide,
As each hied o'er the other's head.
And the smith the death of a dog has died.
Then Kok Robyn fell down dead.
We found them so on the morrow morn,
A sorrowful sight to see;
And our feelings all were quite forlorn
Through feline sympathy.
For the dog we cared not so much as Adàm,
Had he died by the Apple Tree.
Our will was wild to bury our Dead
Under an apple tree;
But among the “greenings” we'd a fear
A “cats-head” sort to see;
And what if every apple s'talk
Kok Robyn's taile should be!
By certain of us it had been well held
Where the streaked punkins grow

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To bury his bones, and Nelly implored
Indeed that it should be so:
But then to see punkins tortoise-shell'd
And fiddle-strings inside. No!
So we back'd him out across the road
O'er the marshes with never a halt,
Not minding the trouble of such a load,
For we loved him to a fault;
Shyly and sadly we laid him out
With an elegant sum o' salt.
And very much like a wail it was
That rent the mouth o' the sack,
As Rob pass'd down to his ocean doom
And the sea-nymphs stroked his back.
Seem'd that the heaven was only glass,
And the world had gone to wrack.
My rhymes are wanting poetic guile:
Could I rhyme like my master Poe,
It mightn't you rile to place your pile
On the tears I would bid to flow.
A dead taile, hardly worth wagging-while
I sprinkle damp words on now.
Moral:— Would Cat and Dog agree,
As Watts his name once tried,
As it is their nature too,— says he.
Our Cat and Dog first died.
Yet the lion lies down with the lamb,
When the lamb-chops are inside.

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Kok Robyn's name is on the wind,
His body has gone to sea:
He has yet seven other lives of a mind
To lengthen his memory,
Beyond this taile just left behind
For the Mews of History.