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 neighbours ran, 

 And swore the dog had lost its 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. 



Oliver Goldsmith. 



The Winter Morning Walk *o <^y *o 

 (From The Task) 



■ • • ■ 



"T^ORTH goes the woodman, leaving unconcern'd 

 The cheerful haunts of man to wield the axe 

 And drive the wedge in yonder forest drear, 

 From morn to eve his solitary task. 



84 



