Howld on till I shtick him,’ says Lord Robert, pullin’ out his soord.
Und to cross dat beeg country, he say, Dey go five or six days on de train; Dey could shtick in von corner avay, De whole Faderland, England und Spain.
So de veller cot elegded pefore de beople foundt On vhitch site of der coose it vas he shtick so awful soundt.
Dey killt him armloss, harmlos; De plooty reiver band; Und puried him so careloosly Dat his vace shtick out de sand.