| Excerpt: 'With a pipe between his lips, Two young dogs upon his hips,' Jogs along old Caspar Sly; How that man can smoke—oh my! But although the pipe-bowl glows Red and hot beneath his nose, Yet his heart is icy-cold; How can earth such wretches hold! 'Of what earthly use to me Can such brutes,' he mutters, 'be? Do they earn their vittles? No! 'Tis high time I let 'em go. What you don't want, fling away! Them's my sentiments, I say!' |
