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AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A
Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song; And if
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,
And curs of low degree.
1 See Vicar of Wakefield, c. xvii.
In the Citizen of the World, vol. ii. lett. lxvi. is a paper on the · Epidemic Terror, the dread of mad dogs, which now pre. vails: the whole nation is now actually groaning under the malignity of its influence.'
This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,
Went mad, and bit the man.
Around from all the neighbouring streets
The wondering people ran,
To bite so good a man.
The wound it seem'd both sore and sad
eye ; And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.
But 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.
AN ELEGY ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX,
MRS. MARY BLAIZE.1
Good people all, with one accord,
Lament for Madam Blaize, Who never wanted a good word
From those who spoke her praise.
The needy seldom pass'd her door,
And always found her kind : She freely lent to all the poor
Who left a pledge behind.
She strove the neighbourhood to please,
With manners wondrous winning; And never follow'd wicked ways
Unless when she was sinning.
At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size, She never slumber'd in her
pew But when she shut her eyes.
Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
When she has walk'd before.
1 See The Bee, No. iv.
But now, her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all ;
Her last disorder mortal.
Let us lament in sorrow sore;
For Kent-street well may say,
She had not died to-day.2
? This poem (as well as the Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog] is an imitation of the chanson called “Le fameux la Galisse, homme imaginaire,' in fifty stanzas, printed in the Ménagiana, iv. 191:
• Messieurs, vous plait-il d'onir
L'air du fameux la Galisse,
Pourvû qu'il vous divertisse
THE CLOWN'S REPLY.
John Trott was desir'd by two witty peers To tell them the reason why asses had ears. • An't please you,' quoth John, “ I'm not given to
letters, Nor dare I pretend to know more than my
betters: Howe'er, from this time I shall ne'er see your
graces, As I hope to be sav'd! — without thinking on