It's the last line of Jubilate Agno (Rejoice in the Lamb), fragment B by Christopher Smart, about his cat. Smart was confined in St. Luke's Hospital for Lunatics, London, in 1757, but he was released a year later, before being admitted again to some other asylum(s) for the next seven years, nobody knows where exactly. That's when and where he wrote this poem - his best known, and of course recognized well after his passing. Fortunately, "religious mania" was considered a "curable lunacy" and he was able to die penniless in debtor's prison. Lucky devil. Such is the life of a poet.
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| no clear description of Jeoffry's appearance - I've always been partial to ginger toms. |
