When I, a man, sat by my door,

Of twenty sad things thinking.

A little dog came up the way,

His gait was slow and weary,

And at his tail a lame man limped,

'Twas Pinch and Caoch O'Leary.

Old Caoch! but ah! how woe-begone!

His form is bowed and bending,

His fleshless hands are stiff and wan,

Ay, time is even blending