Good people all, of every sort, <br />Give ear unto my song; <br />And if you find it wondrous short, <br />It cannot hold you long. <br /> <br />In Islington there was a man <br />Of whom the world might say, <br />That still a godly race he ran— <br />Whene'er he went to pray. <br /> <br />A kind and gentle heart he had, <br />To comfort friends and foes; <br />The naked every day he clad— <br />When he put on his clothes. <br /> <br />And in that town a dog was found, <br />As many dogs there be, <br />Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, <br />And curs of low degree. <br /> <br />This dog and man at first were friends; <br />But when a pique began, <br />The dog, to gain some private ends, <br />Went mad, and bit the man. <br /> <br />Around from all the neighbouring streets <br />The wond'ring neighbours ran, <br />And swore the dog had lost its wits <br />To bite so good a man. <br /> <br />The wound it seemed both sore and sad <br />To every Christian eye; <br />And while they swore the dog was mad, <br />They swore the man would die. <br /> <br />But soon a wonder came to light <br />That showed the rogues they lied,— <br />The man recovered of the bite, <br />The dog it was that died!<br /><br />Oliver Goldsmith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-elegy-on-the-death-of-a-mad-dog/
