Tormented day and night by fleas, With but your shadow for a friend – Have you no wish that such a life Were coming to a quiet end? 'Had I no life there'd be no shadow, And worms would pick my bones,' he said; 'And shall I make that damned mistake, And wish that I were cold and dead? My fleas but bite, and keep me warm, And worms would do me little good; My shadow follows – though I swear And eat up all the bloody food!' |