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The Poems of Oliver Goldsmith

Chapter 22: FOOTNOTES:
By Oliver Goldsmith
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British LiteraturePoetry

About This Book

This collection assembles lyrical, narrative, and didactic poems that mix pastoral description, social observation, and satirical wit. Works move between reflective meditations on rural life and change, concise moral essays in verse, and light comic sketches, employing classical allusion, clear narrative, and a conversational voice. Themes include the displacement of village communities, the absurdities of fashion and ambition, and sympathy for ordinary experience, balanced by formal variety and humor. The edition is accompanied by an editorial preface and biographical notes that contextualize the poems and clarify language and references.

AN ELEGY
ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.37

Good people of all, of every sort,
 Give ear unto my song;
 And if you find it wondrous short,
 It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there lived 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.

This dog and man at first were friends;
 But, when a pique began,
 The dog, to gain some private ends,
 Went mad, and bit the man.
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,
 That show’d the rogues they lied—
 The man recover’d of the bite;
 The dog it was that died.

FOOTNOTES:

37 “‘My brother Dick,’ cried Bill, my youngest, ‘is just gone out with sister Livy; but Mr. Williams has taught me two songs, and I’ll sing them for you, Papa. Which song do you choose, the Dying Swan, or the Elegy on the Mad Dog?’ ‘The Elegy, child, by all means,’ said I: ‘I never heard that yet.’”—Vicar of Wakefield, Chap. XVII.