And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mungrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree. This dog and man at first were friends; But when a pique began, The dog, to gain his private ends, Around from all the neighbouring streets The wondering neighbours 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, The man recover'd of the bite, The dog it was that died. AN ELEGY ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX, MRS. MARY BLAIZE. GOOD people all, with one accord, Who never wanted a good word- The needy seldom pass'd her door, 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 pewBut when she shut her eyes. Her love was sought, I do aver, But now her wealth and finery fled, 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 lived a twelvemonth more, She had not died to-day. |