The Malamute

Hi, there! Into your harness of thong!
(Whip.) You get into your place;
Give him the lash, Bill. Eh? What's wrong?
See that look in the mal'mute's face:
Is it devilish cunning o'ermastering pain?
Some lost soul reincarnate again,
Running Sin's last race.

Come skulkin' into the camp last June,
A leprous, mangy cur;
Reasty and rotten -- bayed at th' Moon
As if you'd a grudge 'gainst her.
All fester and soil -- corruption and boil;
Your evil face like some carved gargoyle,
And you refused to stir