An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog

Oliver Goldsmith

An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog

An ELEGY

on the DEATH of a MAD DOG

WRITTENByDr GoldsmithPICTUREDByR. CaldecottSUNGBy MasterBill Primrose

Good people all, of every sort,Give ear unto my song;And if you find it wondrous short,

It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there lived 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,To comfort friends and foes;The naked every day he clad,

When he put on

his clothes

And in that town a dog was found:As many dogs there be —

Both mongrel,

puppy,

whelp,and hound,

And curs of low degree.

This dog and 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 neighbouring streets

The wondering neighbours ran;

And swore the dog had lost his wits,

To bite so good a man.

The wound it seem'd both sore and sadTo every christian eye;

And while they swore the dog was mad,

They swore the man would dieBut soon a wonder came to light,That show'd the rogues they lied —

The man recover'd of the bite;

The dog it was that died.