Though my wallet was scant, I remember’d his case,
Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face;
But he died at my feet on a cold winter’s day,
And I play’d a lament for my poor dog Tray.
Where now shall I go—poor, forsaken, and blind?
Can I find one to guide me so faithful and kind?
To my sweet native village so far, far away,
I can ne’er more return with my poor dog Tray.