Classic Poem

Under This Stone poor Puskin sleeps;
The Mice rejoice, the Master weeps;
Freakish he was, and full of Play;
Prey'd all the Night; Purr'a' all the Day.
Stop, Traveller! a sad Disaster
Is Paskin 's Death to's loving Master;
But, I must say no more of That,
Lest Grief should kill Him, for his Cat.
Howe'er, to give them Both their Due,
Since Whittington , the World ne'er knew,
Cat e'er so Kind, Master so True.