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!"