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For let folks only get a touch,
Now to apply, begin we then:
with which he writes,
And here my simile almost tript,
In which all modern bards
agree, Being each as great a thief as he: But e'en this deity's existence Shall lend
simile assistance. Our modern bards! why what a pox Are they but senseless stones and blocks?
DEATH OF A MAD DOG,
Good people all, of ev'ry sort,
Give ear unto my song ;
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 ev'ry 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,
Went mąd, and bit the man.
Around from all the neighb’ring streets
The wond'ring 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 ev'ry christian eye; And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die,
But soon a wonder came to light,
That shew'd the rogues they ly’d; The man recover'd of the bite,
The dog it was that dy’d.
John Trott was desir’d by two witty peers, To tell them the reason why asses had ears ? "An't please you,” quoth John, “ I'm not given to
letters, “ Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters; “ Howe'er, from this time, I shall ne'er see your
graces, “As I hope to be sav'd! without thinking on asses.