Catches, canons and drinking songs
Ye cats that at midnight spit love at each other,
who best feel the pangs of a passionate lover,
I appeal to your scratches and tattered fur,
if the bus’ness of love be no more than to purr,
old lady Grimalkin with gooseberry eyes,
when a kitten knew something for why she was wise,
you find by experience the love fit’s soon o’er,
“Puss, puss” lasts not long but turns to “Cat whore,”
men ride many miles,
cats tread many tiles,
both hazard their necks in the fray,
only cats if they fall
from a house or a wall,
keep their feet, mount their tails, and away.