Cambden records it, and I'll stand to't. 

 'Tis true we have too much urbanity, 

 Somewhat o'ercharg'd with soft humanity ; 

 The best things must find food for railing, 

 And every creature has its failing. 



Christopher Smart. 



An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog *o 



/~" OOD 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, 

 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, 

 Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, 

 And curs of low degree. 



83 



