TO A DACHSHUND.
[About the precise nationality of whose remote progenitor—whether Danish, Flemish, or British through the old English Turnspit—the writer will not stay to argue.]
My faithful Peter, mount upon my knee,
And shame me with the patience of your eyes,
Till I for divers patriots that be
Humbly apologise.
Not for the street-boy—him you had for years
And, knowing, make allowance for his ways,
If hoots of ignorance and stones and jeers