AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG
by: Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774)
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 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,
- 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.
- The 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 neighboring streets,
- The wondering neighbors ran,
- And swore the dog had lost his wits
- To bite so good a 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,
- That showed the rogues they lied;
- The man recovered of the bite,
- The dog it was that died.
POEMS BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH
"An Elegy on the Death of a
Mad Dog" is reprinted from A Nonsense Anthology.
Ed. Carolyn Wells. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1915.