And his basket’s slung behind him.
“Lend me that,” cried the baker’s boy,
“The pipe you now are biting,”
“Not I,” cried he, “my pipe I’ll guard!”
And so they fell to fighting.
The butcher fell, but the baker’s boy,
Could not bring his proud soul under;
The pipe he loved ne’er smoked again,
For he broke its stem asunder;
And cried, “No dough shall sully thee,