He was thief by profession—a cadger—a sot— Sticking close to his calling; and so, as we say, An habitual rogue;—had he chosen his lot, It may be he had pitch’d on an honester way. As it was, he was light of his fingers—adept At shop-lifting and burglary—nimble and cute; Never fear’d a policeman (unless when he slept), And was held by his pals in the highest repute. [Acte ye fovrthe.] Act the fourth is the hulks, where our hero appears In the proper stage garments of yellow and red; With a chain to his leg this last dozen of years, And a warder to see that he works for his bread. [Morall Reflecciouns.] Once again—’tis his lot; you won’t hear him complain; He was born to it, kick’d to it—Fortune is blind; And if some have the pleasure, some _must_ have the pain; So it’s each for himself—and the devil behind. [ Acte ye last and Ingenious rhyme.] The last act of our drama—well, what shall it be? The august British Public, defraying the cost?— Or . . . P-a-r-l-i-a-m-e-n-t? Or the angels, lamenting the soul that is lost? BARK. BOW-WOW! I’m my master’s dog; whose dog are you? I live in a kennel, which somebody was good enough to make for me; and I sleep on straw, which grew that I might sleep on it. I have my meals brought to me punctually; and, therefore, I conclude that meals are a noble institution and that punctuality is a virtue. When I act as a good dog ought to act, I get a bone, and my master pats me on the back. Therefore I always do what is expected of me; and that I call morality. Dogs which have no kennels flounder about in the gutter. Having a kennel, I eschew the gutter;—and that I call respectability. It is in the nature of dogs to lick their masters’ feet. The best dogs do it, so I follow their example;—and that I call religion. If I do what is not expected of me, I get the stick. I do not like the stick, so I behave myself;—and that I call conventionality. There is a chain round my neck, lest I should run away. I cannot break the chain, so I play with it;—and that I call the proper subjection of the individual. But I am free to pull at my chain till my neck is sore;—and that I call liberty . . . For the rest, I bark. There are three kinds of spiritual beings: men, dogs, and cats. Men are supreme, and made both dogs and cats. Dogs were created for happiness, and cats for misery. We are the good race, and they are the evil. It is the duty of a dog to kill a cat. Then hate cats, and hang them up by the tails in the back garden. If I am a bad dog, I shall be turned into a cat, and hung up by my tail. Cats are fed on black beetles; but men are very happy, and eat bones all day long. I eat a bone when I can get one; which makes me think that I shall some day be turned into a man. When I am, I shall hang up cats by the tails.