From Comic Songs by Thomas Hudson (London: Gold and Walton, 1818), page 23:


A TALE OF A CAT'S HEAD.

The Widow Tomkins had a back room on the second floor.
Her name was on a neat brass plate on one side of the door.
Many ladies rich in pride were circumstances worse in,
For she was independent—all by going out a-nursing.

Companion she had only one, a beautiful Tom Cat,
Who was a famous mouser and a devil for a rat.
His colour was a tabby, and his skin as soft as silk,
And she would lap him every day the while he lapp'd his milk.

The Widow Tomkins kept herself aloof from every neighbour,
Her pleasure all consisting in assisting at a labour.
One day she was disturb'd from sleep with double rat, tat, tat,
And she went in such a hurry that she quite forgot her cat.

Poor Tom! as soon as day-light came, walk'd up and down the floor,
And heard the dog's meat woman cry cat's meat at the door;
And when he heard the well known cry, to mew he did begin,
In vain, for he could not get out and she could not get in.

Confined to this one single room, he could not roam the house.
He wanted a companion, if it only was a mouse.
He watch'd a hole in vain, for no mouse came his hopes to crown.
Either he was too much up, or the mouse was too much down.

With hunger he got fairly wild, tho' formerly so tame.
Another day pass'd slowly by—another just the same.
With hunger he so hungry was, it did so strong assail,
That altho' very loath he was oblig'd to eat his tail.

This whetted quite his appetite, and tho' the stump was sore,
The next day he was tempted (sad!) to eat a little more!
To make his life the longer then he made his body shorter,
And one after the other 'gad he eat each hinder quarter.

Hunger is a spur which has such long and pointed rowels,
It spur'd him on next day, and next to gobble all his bowels.
He walk'd about on two fore legs, alas! without beholders.
Still more and more by hunger press'd, he din'd on both his shoulders.

Next day he found (the cannibal!) to eating more a check,
Altho' he tried and did reach all he could reach of his neck;
But as he could not bite his ear, all mournfully he cried,
Towards the door he turn'd his eyes, cock'd up his nose, and died!

The Widow did at last return, and oh! how she did stare.
She guess'd the tale as soon as she saw Tom's head lying there.
With grief sincerely heartfelt, as she own'd his fate a hard 'un,
She buried it beneath an apple tree, just down her garden.

Now mark what strange effects from little causes will appear:
The fruit of this said tree was changed, and strangely too next year.
The neighbours say ('tis truth, for they're all folks who go to chapels),
This cat's head was the sole first cause of all the cat's-head apples.