AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG 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 was a man, A kind and gentle heart he had, And in that town a dog was found, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree. The dog and man at first were friends; The dog, to gain some private ends, Around from all the neighboring streets, The wondering neighbors ran, 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 But soon a wonder came to light, The man recovered of the bite, The dog it was that died. Oliver Goldsmith. An Epitaph AN EPITAPH INTERRED beneath this marble stone They gave the poor the remnant meat, Just when it grew not fit to eat. They paid the church and parish rate, And took, but read not, the receipt; For which they claimed their Sunday's due No man's good deeds did they commend, So never raised themselves a friend. 765 Nor cherished they relations poor, They led-a kind of-as it were; Nor wished, nor cared, nor laughed, nor cried. Matthew Prior. OLD GRIMES OLD Grimes is dead; that good old man He used to wear a long, black coat, His heart was open as the day, His feelings all were true; His hair was some inclined to gray- Whene'er he heard the voice of pain, The large, round head upon his cane Old Grimes Kind words he ever had for all; He knew no base design: His eyes were dark and rather small, He lived at peace with all mankind, Unharm'd, the sin which earth pollutes He pass'd securely o'er, And never wore a pair of boots But good old Grimes is now at rest, He modest merit sought to find, He had no malice in his mind, His neighbors he did not abuse- He wore large buckles on his shoes, His knowledge, hid from public gaze, Nor made a noise, town-meeting days, His worldly goods he never threw But lived (as all his brothers do) 767 Thus undisturb'd by anxious cares, His peaceful moments ran; And everybody said he was A fine old gentleman. Albert Gorton Greene. THE ENDLESS SONG Он, I used to sing a song, An' dey said it was too long, To accommodate a frien' Nex' do', nex' do' To accommodate a frien' nex' do'. But it made de matter wuss Dan it had been at de fus, 'Ca'ze de en' was gone, an' den Co'se it didn't have no en' Any mo', any mo' Oh, it didn't have no en' any mo'! So, to save my frien' from sinnin', Whilst I sings about my song Jes so, jes so Whilst I sings about my song jes so. How to please 'im is my riddle, For I'd stan' myself on en' To accommodate a frien' Nex' do', nex' do' To accommodate a frien' nex' do'. Ruth McEnery Stuart. |