And when the wife was ill one time and couldn't get about
He undertook the cooking, though it nearly wore him out
And as for laundry work the wife, has often said to me
That dog could starch and iron collars quite as well as she.

Well, in the end it happened, '94 to be exact
The Houses in their wisdom, passed the brutal 'Muzzling Act'
And from the day that dog had first to put a muzzle on
It seemed as if his interest in life had wholly gone.

He used to loaf about, and ultimately took to drink
And more than once I found him beastly drunk beneath the sink.
Half dazed and semi-stupid round the neighbourhood he'd roam
And the p'liceman on our beat, who knew him, used to bring him home.

  One night, more drunk than usual, he somehow lost his way
And a strange 'slop' trod on him, as he in the gutter lay
And finding him incapable, and smelling strong of gin
The P.C. got an ambulance and promptly ran him in.

They called him up next morning, but his case was never tried
For, in the night, they found he had committed suicide.
Stung by his degradation, broken hearted, sick of breath
He had gone into a corner, where he bit himself to death.

Close by him was a pencil, and upon the whitewashed wall
The touching words 'Forgive - Forget - Good-bye'... and that was all.

Continue Return