With a pipe between his lips, Two young dogs upon his hips, Jogs along old Caspar Sly; How that man can smoke, -oh, my But although the pipe-bowl glows Red and hot beneath his nose; Yet his heart is icy-cold; How can earth such wretches hold "Of what earthly use to me Can such brutes," he mutters, "be? Do they earn their vittles? No 'Tis high time I let 'em go. What you don't want, fling away Them's my sentiments, I say "