And scratched is his curving tail,
Yet he still holds on with a right good grace,
A knowing look on his crafty face,
And spirits that never fail.
So, what if his fingers are some of them gone,
And twisted the horns on his head?
His cheek still glows, and his aquiline nose
Is a genuine devilish red;
And his tail, beside, is a thing of pride,
For it swings in a glorious sweep,