My doggish soul for one hour of might.’

‘Thy soul it is no more to me,’

Said the devil, ‘than a herring is.’

The teeth meet no longer now.

They must avoid hard morsels.

He hath gone, the bloody duke:

Long live the Beggar!

“The little street dogs, crooklegged, one-eyed, full of mange,

That live or die on rubbish heaps.

Heave up their leg one by one