A Little Cat played on a silver flute,
And a Big Cat sat and listened;
The Little Cat's strains gave the Big Cat pains,
And a tear on his eyelid glistened.
Then the Big Cat said, “Oh, rest awhile;”
But the Little Cat said, “No, no;
For I get pay for the tunes I play;”
And the Big Cat answered, “Oh!
If you get pay for the tunes you play,
I'm afraid you'll play till you drop;
You'll spoil your health in the race for wealth,
So I'll give you more to stop.”
Said the Little Cat, “Hush! you make me blush;
Your offer is unusually kind;
Though it's very, very hard to leave the back yard,
I'll accept if you do n't mind.”
So the Big Cat gave him a thousand pounds
And a silver brush and a comb,
And a country seat on Beacon Street,
Right under the State House dome.
And the Little Cat sits with other little kits,
And watches the bright sun rise;
And the voice of the flute is long since mute,
And the Big Cat dries his eyes.