Spot ne'er barked and Spot ne'er whined
But quickly caught the thief behind;
He dragged him down in the mire and dirt,
And tore his coat and tore his shirt,
Then held him fast on the miry ground;
The robber uttered not a sound,
While his hands and feet the farmer bound,
And tumbled him into the wagon.
So Spot he saved the farmer's life,
The farmer's money, the farmer's wife,
And now a hero grand and gay,
A silver collar he wears today;
Among his friends, among his foes—
And everywhere his master goes—
He follows on his horny toes,
The dog under the wagon.
Anonymous.
SAL'S TOWSER AND MY TROUSER
A RUSTIC IDYL BY A RUSTIC IDLER
But yestere'en I loved thee whole,
Oh, fashionable and baggy trouser!
And now I loathe and hate the hole
In thee, I do, I trow, sir.
I sallied out to see my Sal,
Across yon round hill's brow, sir;
I didn't know she, charming gal,
Had a dog,—a trouser-browser.
I'd sauntered in quite trim and spruce,
When on a sudden, oh, my trouser,
I felt thee seized where thou'rt most loose,—
I tarried there with Towser.