And his bulldog fierce Basmāsur;

Serve them right, too, I consider,

Filthy, casteless, stinking wretches!”

And the Hermit to his grotto

Back returned, and deeply pondered

On the days that are forgotten,

On the unremembered ages.

But our Lingo wandered onwards,

Fasting, praying, doing penance;

Laid him on a bed of prickles,