But why for thee this fond complaint?
Above thy master thou art blest:
Art thou not free? — Yes; calm Content,
With olive sceptre, sways thy breast:
Then deign with me to live;
The falcon with insatiate maw,
With hooked bill and griping claw,
Shall ne'er thy destiny contrive:
And every tabby foe shall mew in vain,
While pensively demure she hears thy melting strain.