The Hare Condemned and Executed


T HE hunted Hare, with panting breath,
And ripe, though unprepar'd for death,
Saw, in his flight's reflected view,
The keen, insatiate, murdering crew.
He ask'd (nor more was in his power)
To respite the impending hour,
Though some, in metaphysics deep,
Laugh'd at his childish fears — of sleep;
For so they call the bite of Death,
And shrieking Pussy's latest breath:
But he, to sins and follies prone,
Was a believer to the bone.
He wish'd, before his days were spent,
For time and leisure to repent;
Besides, in articles of love,
He had the feelings of a dove:
His wife had a commanding spirit,
A Puss of enterprize and merit.
The male was lively — not a fool,
But indiscreet — averse to rule:
With his own Pussy not content,
Was prone to be incontinent;
He ran astray — the sex pursued,
And kept a mistress in a wood,
But separated from the right
And pleasures of the loyal night;
In other points affection's model,
Till Mrs. Puss became a coddle.
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