Elegy on The Death of a Mad Dog

Elegy on The Death on a Mad Dog
-Oliver Goldsmith

Good people of every sort,

Give ear unto my song;

And if you find it wondrous short,

It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a man,

Of whom the world might say

That still a goldly race he ran,

Whene'er he went to play.

A king and gentle heart he had,

To comfort friends and foes;

The naked everyday he cald,

When he put on his clothes.

And in the town a dog was found,

As many dogs there be,

Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound

And curs of low degree.

The dog and the man at first were friends;

But when a pique began,

The dog, to gain some private ends,

Went mad and bit the man.

Around from all the neighb'ring streets

The wond'ring neighbours ran,

And swore the dog has lost his wits,

To bite so good man.

The wound it seemed both sore and sad

To every Christian eye;

And while they swore the dog was mad,

They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light

They showed the rouges they lied;

The mn rcovered of the bite,

The dog it was that died.