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- Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
« And ev'ry care resign:
My life,---my all that's mine.
“ No, never, from this hour to part,
66 We'll live and love so true; * The figh that rends thy constant heart,
Shall break thy Edwin's too."
DEATH OF A MAD DOG,
GOOD people all, of ev'ry sort,
Give ear unto my song ;
It cannot hold you long.
In Ifing-ton 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 cloaths.
And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be, Both mungrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.
* This, and the following poem, appeared in The Vicar of Wakefield, which was published in the year 1765.
This dog and man at first were friends ;
But when a pique began,
Went mad and bit the man.
Around from all the neighb'ring streets,
The wond’ring neighbours ran,
To bite so good a man.
The wound it seem'd both fore and sad,
To every christia
They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light,
That shew'd the rogues they ly'd;
The dog it was that dy'd.
W Ο Μ Α Ν.
WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from ev'ry eye, To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom-is to die.