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Alas, poor Jim Dog! They knew him, Dwellars: a canine
of infinite tricks, of most excellent charity: he hath
borne a pack on his back a thousand times; and now, how
abhorred in our imagination it is! the gorge rims at
it. There hangs those boxes that they had filled I know
not how oft. Where be his barks now?
his growls? his howls? his wags of merriment,
that were wont to set the platform on a roar? Not one
now, to mock your own licking? quite tail-droopin'?
Now get you to your window, and tell them, let
them fill the slot with donations, to your calling they must
come; make them laugh at that. Prithee, Dwellars, tell
me one thing ... Who's a good boy!
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