Bustopher Jones: The Cat About Town Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCBDEFEGHIH JKBK LKMKLKNKONPN QRKRSQTQUKVK| Bustopher Jones is not skin and bones | A |
| In fact he's remarkably fat | B |
| He doesn't haunt pubs he has eight or nine clubs | C |
| For he's the St James's Street Cat | B |
| He's the Cat we all greet as he walks down the street | D |
| In his coat of fastidious black | E |
| No commonplace mousers have such well cut trousers | F |
| Or such an impreccable back | E |
| In the whole of St James's the smartest of names is | G |
| The name of this Brummell of Cats | H |
| And we're all of us proud to be nodded or bowed to | I |
| By Bustopher Jones in white spats | H |
| - | |
| His visits are occasional to the Senior Educational | J |
| And it is against the rules | K |
| For any one Cat to belong both to that | B |
| And the Joint Superior Schools | K |
| - | |
| For a similar reason when game is in season | L |
| He is found not at Fox's but Blimpy's | K |
| He is frequently seen at the gay Stage and Screen | M |
| Which is famous for winkles and shrimps | K |
| In the season of venison he gives his ben'son | L |
| To the Pothunter's succulent bones | K |
| And just before noon's not a moment too soon | N |
| To drop in for a drink at the Drones | K |
| When he's seen in a hurry there's probably curry | O |
| At the Siamese or at the Glutton | N |
| If he looks full of gloom then he's lunched at the Tomb | P |
| On cabbage rice pudding and mutton | N |
| - | |
| So much in this way passes Bustopher's day | Q |
| At one club or another he's found | R |
| It can be no surprise that under our eyes | K |
| He has grown unmistakably round | R |
| He's a twenty five pounder or I am a bounder | S |
| And he's putting on weight every day | Q |
| But he's so well preserved because he's observed | T |
| All his life a routine so he'll say | Q |
| Or to put it in rhyme I shall last out my time | U |
| Is the word of this stoutest of Cats | K |
| It must and it shall be Spring in Pall Mall | V |
| While Bustopher Jones wears white spats | K |
T. S. Eliot
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