Classic Poem

There lived in Bretté city
A man both poor and blind,
Who for himself no longer
His bit of bread could find.

Then was his faithful poodle
A friend in need, and bore
Between his teeth the basket
And begged from door to door.

A billet in the basket
Said: ‘Give the blind man food!’
And each one gave the poodle
Right gladly what he could.

Which, then, the faithful creature
To his poor master bore,
And never touched a morsel,
Though ofttimes hungering sore.

But once he came, on Friday,
To where a butcher dwelt;
The simple beast had never
Man's cunning known or felt.

The butcher was a bigot,
A Papist strict was he:
‘Flesh wouldst thou have on Fast-day?
But stop! I'll give it thee.’

Then chopped his little tail off
All at a single blow,
And threw it in the basket,
And said, ‘There's meat, now go!’

Disgraced and maimed, but faithful,
The basket home he bore,
And laid him on the threshold
And moaned and breathed no more!

Then heavy grief and sorrow
On all the city fell,
For all the men and children
Had loved the dog so well.

Above the city gate, now,
For a memorial shown,
Without a tail, a poodle
Stands there, hewn out in stone.

And when a faithful action
Meets base return, they say:
‘He's treated as the poodle
Of Bretté was one day.’