7 For though, the blooming queen of Cyprus' isle
O'er her cold bosom long had ceased to reign,
On that cold bosom still could Bacchus smile,
Such beverage to own if Bacchus deign:
For wine she prized not much, for stronger drink
Its medicine, oft a cholic-pain will call,
And for the medicine's sake, might envy think,
Oft would a cholic-pain her bowels enthral;
Yet much the proffer did she loathe, and say
No dram might maiden taste, and often answered nay.
8 So as in single animals he joyed,
One cat, and eke one dog, his bounty fed;
The first the cate-devouring mice destroyed,
Thieves heard the last, and from his threshold fled:
All in the sunbeams basked the lazy cat,
Her mottled length in couchant posture laid;
On one accustomed chair while Pompey sat,
And loud he barked should Puss his right invade.
The human pair oft marked them as they lay,
And haply sometimes thought like cat and dog were they.
9 A room he had that faced the southern ray,
Where oft he walked to set his thoughts in tune,
Pensive he paced its length an hour or tway,
All to the music of his creeking shoon.
And at the end a darkling closet stood,
Where books he kept of old research and new,
In seemly order ranged on shelves of wood,
And rusty nails and phials not a few:
Thilk place a wooden box beseemeth well,
And papers squared and trimmed for use unmeet to tell.
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