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This dog and man at first were friends;

But when a pique began,

The dog, to gain his private ends,

Went mad, and bit the man.

Around from all the neighbouring streets

The wondering people ran,

And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.

The wound it seem'd 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 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;
The king himself has follow'd her -
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;

The doctors found, when she was dead-
Her last disorder mortal.

Let us lament in sorrow sore;

For Kent-street well may. say,

That had she liv'd a twelvemonth more
She had not died to-day.2

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'ouir

L'air du fameux la Galisse,

Il pourra vous réjouir,

Pourvû qu'il vous divertisse

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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

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As I hope to be sav'd!-without thinking on

asses.'

Edinburgh, 1753.

ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH STRUCK BLIND BY LIGHTNING.

IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.1

SURE 'twas by Providence design'd,
Rather in pity than in hate,
That he should be, like Cupid, blind,
To save him from Narcissus' fate.

STANZAS ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC.2

AMIDST the clamour of exulting joys,

Which triumph forces from the patriot heart, Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice, And quells the raptures which from pleasures

start.

O Wolfe! to thee a streaming flood of woe,

Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear: Quebec in vain shall teach our breast to glow, Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear.

Alive the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,

And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes: Yet they shall know thou conquerest, tho' dead! Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.

1 See The Bee, No. i.

2 First printed in The Busy Body, 1759.--P. C.

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