From a broadside in the Bodleian collection, between 1819 and 1844:


THE IDENTICAL CAT.

I'll try my endeavours to please you all pat,
When I tell you about a curious cat—
Talk about one that Whittington had,
To compare it with this, you'd be worser than mad.
She'd go in and kill, in not many hours,
About such a thing as a million of rats.
You may think it a lie—it's a fact, by the powers,
So I mean for to call her the queen of the cats.
Rum ti, &c.

'Twas my grandfather's father's great-grandmother rear'd it—
Her cat it had kittens, a thousand or more—
She drowned the lot, only this one she spar'd it,
And while ever she kept it, she never was poor.
When a kitten 'twould turn to, and do all the washing,
Empty the slops, do the ironing pat,
And she'd darn all the family's old worsted stockings,
And this is the very identical cat.
Rum ti, &c.

This cat has been living near five hundred years,
And to see her there's money been paid in galore.
If I keep her six weeks, that will drown all my cares,
For I think I shall make twenty thousand or more.
I s'pose you remember that very odd story
About puss in boots, when the giant turn'd rat—
She caught him, and kill'd him, she was in her glory,
And this is the very identical cat.
Rum ti, &c.

She can dance out-and-out; besides, she can smoke.
I'm sure there's no other one can her excel.
She plays 'Tullochgorum,' also 'Johnny Cope,'
Upon the piano exceedingly well.
I dare say you never see her go singing,
To notice how fine she goes round with her hat—
I'm sure she can set all the concert rooms ringing,
And this is the very identical cat.
Rum ti, &c.

You've heard of Dame Trot and her comical cat,
And I dare say you all thought that never was true,
And not the least doubt but you'd call me a flat,
If I told you more wonders that this one could do.
T'other night she went to a professional benefit,
Her singing went down with the greatest eclat,
And six people died while laughing at her they sat—
And this is the very identical cat.
Rum ti, &c.

I'm going to unfathom a regular secret.
Nobody knows it but puss and myself—
And now to disclose it, it is no use to keep it,
For I find that with it I can't make any pelf.
What fools folks must be to think that Jack Thingame,
Escap'd out of quod, as in irons he sat,
'Till a nail, and a file, and things come down the chimney,
Sent down by this very identical cat.
Rum ti, &c.

Her artfulness it is beyond competition.
She caught of large rats, let me see, twenty score,
And she sav'd their lives only on one condition:
That in Newgate they'd gnaw a large hole in each door.
They set to a-gnawing, and soon got 'em shap'd,
Large enough to let any man out that warn't fat—
And that's just the way that Jack Sheppard escap'd,
And 'twas all through this very identical cat.
Rum ti, &c.

Now I've made up my mind, when I've made enough money,
To take her to Dover, and then off to France,
Where I know she'll cut out either Grisi or Honey,
For I mean her to sing as well as to dance.
I've not told you all that I know of this animal,
But some other night I will tell you more pat,
Tales that will run through your veins just like calomel,
Concerning this very identical cat.
Ri tum, &c.