小狗小狗!——维吉尔。那是一窝，一窝五只，四只淹死了，一只还活着，他被认为是唯一值得活下去的;巴格曼决定把他养大，让他吃他的面包，喝他的杯子。他是一只可爱的小猎狗。巴格曼教了他许多把戏;他会拿着棍子去捡，追着棍子跑，能很好地理解命令的意思，鼻子上粘着一块硬皮，好像在打瞌睡，直到巴格曼允许他挥手，他才吐出来接住，他从来不会失败，就像他坐在他的小鸡尾酒尾巴上一样。小狗从来没有受过这样的教育，也从来没有像他那样具有这样的天赋;随着他年龄的增长，每个旁观者都认为他变得更英俊、更圆滑、更大胆。然而，时间的车轮，我们可能会堵塞，稳步前进，静止不动，长着鸡尾巴的小狗变成了长着卷尾巴的狗!正当他年富体壮的时候，大家都以为他会成就一番伟大的事业，在一个不幸的日子里，谁也说不清，究竟是什么温柔的情缘使他误入歧途，还是什么拐骗他的流浪汉把他哄走，他像晨露一样消失在景色中;他过去在，现在不在——他们只知道这些; And the Bagman storm'd, and the Bagman swore, As never a Bagman had sworn before; But storming or swearing but little avails, To recover lost dogs with great curly tails.-- In a large paved court, close by Billiter Square, Stands a mansion old, but in thorough repair, The only strange thing, from the general air Of its size and appearance, is, how it got there; In front is a short semicircular stair Of stone steps,-- some half score,-- Then you reach the ground floor, With a shell-pattern'd architrave over the door. It is spacious, and seems to be built on the plan Of a Gentleman's house in the reign of Queen Anne; Which is odd, for although, As we very well know, Under Tudors and Stuarts the City could show Many Noblemen's seats above Bridge and below, Yet that fashion soon after induced them to go From St. Michael Cornhill, and St. Mary le Bow, To St. James, and St. George, and St. Anne in Soho.-- Be this as it may,-- at the date I assign To my tale,-- that's about Seventeen Sixty Nine,-- This mansion, now rather upon the decline, Had less dignified owners, belonging in fine, To Turner, Dry, Weipersyde, Rogers, and Pyne,-- A respectable House in the Manchester line. There were a score Of Bagmen and more, Who had travell'd full oft for the firm before; But just at this period they wanted to send Some person on whom they could safely depend, A trustworthy body, half agent, half friend, On some mercantile matter as far as Ostend; And the person they pitch'd on, was Anthony Blogg, A grave steady man not addicted to grog,-- The Bagman, in short, who had lost this great dog. 'The Sea! the Sea! the open Sea!-- That is the place where we all wish to be, Rolling about on it merrily!'-- So all sing and say, By night and by day, In the boudoir, the street, at the concert, and play, In a sort of coxcombical roundelay; You may roam through the City, transversely or straight, From Whitechapel turnpike to Cumberland gate, And every young Lady who thrums a guitar, Ev'ry mustachio'd Shopman who smokes a cigar, With affected devotion, Promulgates his notion, Of being a 'Rover' and 'child of the Ocean'-- Whate'er their age, sex, or condition may be, They all of them long for the 'Wide, Wide Sea!' But, however they dote, Only set them afloat In any craft bigger at all than a boat, Take them down to the Nore And you'll see that before The 'Wessel' they 'Woyage' in has half made her way Between Shell-Ness Point and the pier at Herne Bay, Let the wind meet the tide in the slightest degree, They'll be all of them heartily sick of 'the Sea'! I've stood in Margate, on a bridge of size Inferior far to that described by Byron, Where 'palaces and pris'ns on each hand rise, ' -- That too's a stone one, this is made of iron -- And little donkey-boys your steps environ, Each proffering for your choice his tiny hack, Vaunting its excellence; and should you hire one, For sixpence, will he urge, with frequent thwack, The much-enduring beast to Buenos Ayres -- and back. And there, on many a raw and gusty day, I've stood and turn'd my gaze upon the pier, And seen the crews, that did embark so gay That self-same morn, now disembark so queer; Then to myself I've sigh'd and said, 'Oh dear! Who would believe yon sickly looking man's a London Jack Tar,-- a Cheapside Buccan