"Coom, vife," says goot oldt farmer Gray,"Git on your tings: dot's markets-tay.Ve'll go so quick vot ve can to town,Und pack again 'fore dot sun coomes down.Shpot!No: ve'll leave oldt Shpot behint."But Shpot he parked, und Shpot he vhined,Und soon made out his toggish mindTo shteal avay under dot vagon.Avay dey vent at a merry pace;But some sad coomes into dot farmer's face;Und he said, "Poor Shpot! he did vant to come,But maype dot's petter he's leaved at home.He'll vatch de parn, und he'll vatch de cot,Und keep dose cattles out of de lot.""I'm not so sure of dot," growled Shpot,On a dog-trot under dot vagon.So soon as all dose tings vas sold,Und he gits his pay in silber und gold,He shtarted home, a quarter past dark,Across a lonesomely forest.Hark!A robber shumps from pehind a tree:"Your money or your life!" says he.It's a cross-eyed moon, so he don't can seeDot leetle tog under de vagon.Den Shpot parked vonce, und vonce he vhined,Und he grapped dot tief py de pants pehind;He dragged him down in de mud und dirt;He teared his coat, likevise his shirt;Und dot tief in de mud got nearly drowned,Und he don't could rise pooty kvick off de ground;So his lecks und arms de farmer bound,Und histed him into dot vagon.So Shpot he safed de farmer's life,Also his money, likevise his vife;Und now a hero grand und gay,A silber necktie he vears to-day.He goes verefer his master goes;Und you bet he holds pooty high his nose,Mit lots of frients, und not any foes,—Dot leetle tog under de vagon.
"Coom, vife," says goot oldt farmer Gray,"Git on your tings: dot's markets-tay.Ve'll go so quick vot ve can to town,Und pack again 'fore dot sun coomes down.Shpot!No: ve'll leave oldt Shpot behint."But Shpot he parked, und Shpot he vhined,Und soon made out his toggish mindTo shteal avay under dot vagon.Avay dey vent at a merry pace;But some sad coomes into dot farmer's face;Und he said, "Poor Shpot! he did vant to come,But maype dot's petter he's leaved at home.He'll vatch de parn, und he'll vatch de cot,Und keep dose cattles out of de lot.""I'm not so sure of dot," growled Shpot,On a dog-trot under dot vagon.So soon as all dose tings vas sold,Und he gits his pay in silber und gold,He shtarted home, a quarter past dark,Across a lonesomely forest.Hark!A robber shumps from pehind a tree:"Your money or your life!" says he.It's a cross-eyed moon, so he don't can seeDot leetle tog under de vagon.Den Shpot parked vonce, und vonce he vhined,Und he grapped dot tief py de pants pehind;He dragged him down in de mud und dirt;He teared his coat, likevise his shirt;Und dot tief in de mud got nearly drowned,Und he don't could rise pooty kvick off de ground;So his lecks und arms de farmer bound,Und histed him into dot vagon.So Shpot he safed de farmer's life,Also his money, likevise his vife;Und now a hero grand und gay,A silber necktie he vears to-day.He goes verefer his master goes;Und you bet he holds pooty high his nose,Mit lots of frients, und not any foes,—Dot leetle tog under de vagon.
"Coom, vife," says goot oldt farmer Gray,"Git on your tings: dot's markets-tay.Ve'll go so quick vot ve can to town,Und pack again 'fore dot sun coomes down.Shpot!No: ve'll leave oldt Shpot behint."But Shpot he parked, und Shpot he vhined,Und soon made out his toggish mindTo shteal avay under dot vagon.
Avay dey vent at a merry pace;But some sad coomes into dot farmer's face;Und he said, "Poor Shpot! he did vant to come,But maype dot's petter he's leaved at home.He'll vatch de parn, und he'll vatch de cot,Und keep dose cattles out of de lot.""I'm not so sure of dot," growled Shpot,On a dog-trot under dot vagon.
So soon as all dose tings vas sold,Und he gits his pay in silber und gold,He shtarted home, a quarter past dark,Across a lonesomely forest.Hark!A robber shumps from pehind a tree:"Your money or your life!" says he.It's a cross-eyed moon, so he don't can seeDot leetle tog under de vagon.
Den Shpot parked vonce, und vonce he vhined,Und he grapped dot tief py de pants pehind;He dragged him down in de mud und dirt;He teared his coat, likevise his shirt;Und dot tief in de mud got nearly drowned,Und he don't could rise pooty kvick off de ground;So his lecks und arms de farmer bound,Und histed him into dot vagon.
So Shpot he safed de farmer's life,Also his money, likevise his vife;Und now a hero grand und gay,A silber necktie he vears to-day.He goes verefer his master goes;Und you bet he holds pooty high his nose,Mit lots of frients, und not any foes,—Dot leetle tog under de vagon.