AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.1 GOOD people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; In Islington there was a man, Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran Whene'er he went to pray. A kind and gentle heart he had, And in that town a dog was found, Both mungrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, 1 See Vicar of Wakefield, c. xvii. OF GOLDSMITH dog and man at first we But when a pique began, dog, to gain his private Went mad, and bit the m and from all the neighb The wondering neighbou Swore the dog had los To bite so good a man. he wound it seem'd bot In the Citizen of the World, vol. ii. lett. lxvi. is a paper on the Epidemic Terror, the dread of Mad Dogs, which now prevails; the whole nation is now actually groaning under the malignity of its influence.' is dog and man at first were friends; But when a pique began, e dog, to gain his private ends, Went mad, and bit the man. cound from all the neighbouring streets The wondering neighbours ran, nd swore the dog had lost his wits, To bite so good a man. he wound it seem'd both sore and sad Το every christian eye; _nd while they swore the dog was mad, They swore the man would die. Sut soon a wonder came to light, OF GOLD THE CLOWN'S REPLY. JOHN TROTT was desir'd by two witty peers To tell them the reason why asses had ears? 'An't please you,' quoth John, 'I'm not given to letters, my betters; Nor dare I pretend to know more than STANZAS ON WOMAN.1 WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom-is, to die. 1 See Vicar of Wakefield, c. xxiv. The royal game of g And the twelve rules The seasons, fram'd The morn was cold And five crack'd te These lines first -ites each passing stranger that can pay; here Calvert's butt, and Parson's black champaign, gale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane ; ere in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug, e Muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug; window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray, at dimly show'd the state in which he lay; e sanded floor that grits beneath the tread; ne humid wall with paltry pictures spread : ne royal game of goose was there in view, nd the twelve rules the royal martyr drew; he seasons, fram'd with listing, found a place, nd brave prince William show'd his lampblack face: The morn was cold, he views with keen desire he rusty grate unconscious of a fire: With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scor'd, and five crack'd teacups dress'd the chimney board; nightcap deck'd his brows instead of bay, A cap by night—a stocking all the day! 1 These lines first appeared in the Citizen of the World, ol. i. letter xxix. |