my pipe is lit, my grog is mix’d,
my curtains drawn and all is snug;
old puss is in her elbow-chair,
and tray is sitting on the rug.
last night i had a curious dream,
miss susan bates was mistress mogg —
what d’ye think of that, my cat?
what d’ye think of that, my dog?
she look’d so fair, she sang so well,
i could but woo and she was won,
myself in blue, the bride in white,
the ring was placed, the deed was done!
away we went in chaise-and-four,
as fast as grinning boys could flog —
what d’ye think of that, my cat?
what d’ye think of that, my dog?
what loving tête-à-têtes to come!
but tête-à-têtes must still defer!
when susan came to live with me,
her mother came to live with her!
with sister belle she couldn’t part,
but all my ties had leave to jog —
what d’ye think of that, my cat?
what d’ye think of that, my dog?
the mother brought a pretty poll —
a monkey too, what work he made!
the sister introduced a beau —
my susan brought a favorite maid.
she had a tabby of her own,
a snappish mongrel christen’d gog —
what d’ye think of that, my cat?
what d’ye think of that, my dog?
the monkey bit — the parrot scream’d
all day the sister strumm’d and sung;
the petted maid was such a scold!
my susan learn’d to use her tongue:
her mother had such wretched health,
she sate and croak’d like any frog —
what d’ye think of that, my cat?
what d’ye think of that, my dog?
no longer deary, ducky, and love,
i soon came down to simple “m!”
the very servants cross’d my wish,
my susan let me down to them.
the poker hardly seem’d my own,
i might as well have been a log —
what d’ye think of that, my cat?
what d’ye think of that, my dog?
my clothes they were the queerest shape!
such coats and hats she never met!
my ways they were the oddest ways!
my friends were such a vulgar set!
poor tomkinson was snubb’d and huff’d —
she could not bear that mister blogg —
what d’ye think of that, my cat?
what d’ye think of that, my dog?
at times we had a spar, and then
mamma must mingle in the song —
the sister took a sisters part —
the maid declared her master wrong —
the parrot learn’d to call me “fool!”
my life was like a london fog —
what d’ye think of that, my cat?
what d’ye think of that, my dog?
my susan’s taste was superfine,
as proved by bills that had no end —
i never had a decent coat —
i never had a coin to spend!
she forced me to resign my club,
lay down my pipe, retrench my grog —
what d’ye think of that, my cat?
what d’ye think of that, my dog?
each sunday night we gave a rout
to fops and flirts, a pretty list;
and when i tried to steal away,
i found my study full of whist!
then, first to come and last to go,
there always was a captain hogg —
what d’ye think of that, my cat?
what d’ye think of that, my dog?
now was not that an awful dream
for one who single is and snug —
with pussy in the elbow-chair
and tray reposing on the rug? —
if i must totter down the hill,
’tis safest done without a clog —
what d’ye think of that, my cat?
what d’ye think of that, my dog?