His phiz, you see, is almost human,
Save that his look is of a demon;
His face is ever earthward bent,
As if on treasures there intent;
His glance thence never turns astray
Towards sunny sky or milky way;
His usual gait is on all fours,
Although his hands will open doors;
You see they’re hooked like vulture’s claws,
To clutch the gold through chinks and flaws;