  Those who in quarrels interpose Must often wipe a bloody nose. A mastiff of true English mood Loved fighting better than his food. When dogs were snarling o'er a bone He wished to make their war his own; And often found (where two contend) To interpose, obtained his end: The scars of honour seamed his face; He deemed his limp endued with grace. Once on a time he heard afar Two dogs contend with noisy jar; Away he scoured to lay about him, Resolved no fray should be without him. Forth from the yard—which was a tanner's— The master rushed to teach him manners; And with the cudgel tanned his hide, And bullied him with words beside. Forth from another yard—a butcher's— The master rushed—his name was Mutchers— "Why, who the deuce are you?" he cried: "Why do you interfere? Bankside Has, at the Bull-pit, seen and known, And Hockleyhole and Marry-bone, That when we go to work we mean it— Why should you come and intervene it?" So said, they dragged the dogs asunder, And kicks and clubs fell down like thunder. And parted now, and freed from danger, The curs beheld the meddling stranger, And where their masters whacked they hurried, And master mastiff he was "worried." |
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