Finale

Repairman crippled with old automobiles,

The hermit, unfortunately, has made it back to his nest.

By my beard, I am too old for Paris;

The corners of your houses get into my ankles.

My checkered vest looks, one may say, almost Etruscan,

And my chestnut hat goes poorly with my outfit.

Notice, someone has placed a notice on my door:

Everything in this dwelling smells of a dead goat's skin.