Sorrow For A Favourite Tabby Cat, Who Left This Scene Of Troubles, Friday Night, Nov. 26, 1819. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AAABAB CCCDCD EFFDFD GGHIGI JJJKJL MMMDMD MMMDMD NNNDND OOODOD MMMDMD PPQRID STSDTD| Let brutish hearts as hard as stones | A |
| Mock The weak Muse's tender moans | A |
| As now she wails o'er Titty's bones | A |
| With anguish deep | B |
| Doubtless o'er parent's dying groans | A |
| They'd little weep | B |
| - | |
| Ah Pity thine's a tender heart | C |
| Thy sigh soon heaves thy tears soon start | C |
| And thou hast given the muse her part | C |
| Salt tears to shed | D |
| To mourn and sigh with sorrow's smart | C |
| For pussy's dead | D |
| - | |
| Ah mourning Memory 'neath thy pall | E |
| Thou utterest many a piercing call | F |
| Pickling in vinegar's sour gall | F |
| Ways that are fled | D |
| The way the feats the tricks and all | F |
| Of pussy dead | D |
| - | |
| Thou tell'st of all the gamesome plays | G |
| That mark'd her happy kitten days | G |
| Ah I did love her funny way | H |
| On the sand floor | I |
| But now sad sorrow damps my lays | G |
| Pussy's no more | I |
| - | |
| Thou paint'st her flirting round and round | J |
| As she was wont with things she'd found | J |
| Chasing the spider o'er the ground | J |
| Straws pushing on | K |
| Thou paint'st them on a bosom wound | J |
| Poor pussy's gone | L |
| - | |
| Ah mice rejoice ye've lost your foe | M |
| Who watch'd your scheming robberies so | M |
| That while she liv'd twa'n't yours to know | M |
| A crumb of bread | D |
| 'Tis yours to triumph mine's the woe | M |
| Now pussy's dead | D |
| - | |
| While pussy liv'd ye'd empty maws | M |
| No sooner peep'd ye out your nose | M |
| But ye were instant in her claws | M |
| With squeakings dread | D |
| Ye're now set free from tyrant laws | M |
| Poor pussy's dead | D |
| - | |
| Left freely here to prowl at night | N |
| To wake me like some squeaking sprite | N |
| There's nothing now but ye dare bite | N |
| Your terror's fled | D |
| Put up I must with all your spite | N |
| Poor pussy's dead | D |
| - | |
| But if wide nicks ye mean to run | O |
| To scoop my barley crust in fun | O |
| And drop your tails on't when ye've done | O |
| Beware your head | D |
| Or ye'll find what ye'd wish to shun | O |
| Though pussy's dead | D |
| - | |
| As sure's you're born within your clothes | M |
| If puss can't nab ye by the nose | M |
| I'll find a scheme ye'd ill suppose | M |
| To save my bread | D |
| Ye may'nt too much infringe the laws | M |
| If pussy's dead | D |
| - | |
| So don't ye drive your jokes too far | P |
| Ye cupboard plunderers as ye are | P |
| For while I've sixpence left to spare | Q |
| And traps are had | R |
| I'll make among ye dreadful war | I |
| Though pussy's dead | D |
| - | |
| And now poor puss thou'st lost thy breath | S |
| And decent laid the molds beneath | T |
| As ere a cat could wish in death | S |
| For her last bed | D |
| This to thy memory I bequeath | T |
| Poor pussy dead | D |
John Clare
(1)
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