Explore "The Mad Dog" by Oliver Goldsmith on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Good 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 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.