My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

Sweet his tongue as throstle's note,

Quick in dance as thought can be ;
Deft his tabor, cudgel stout;

O, he lies by the willow-tree!
My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

Hark! the raven flaps his wing
In the brier'd dell below;
Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing
To the night-mares as they go.
My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

See, the white moon shines on high;
Whiter is my true love's shroud;
Whiter than the morning sky,
Whiter than the evening cloud.
My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

T. Chatterton

CXIX

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG

ood people all, of every sort,

Give ear unto my song;

nd if you find it wondrous short, It cannot hold you long.

nIslington there was a man, Of whom the world might say, "hat still a godly race he ran Whene'er he went to pray.

kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes; "he naked every day he clad, When he put on his clothes.

nd in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be,

oth mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,

And curs of low degree.

his dog and man at first were friends;

But when a pique began,

he dog, to gain his private ends,

Went mad, and bit the man.

round from all the neighbouring streets

The wondering neighbours ran,

nd swore the dog had lost his wits, To bite so good a man.

R

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.

O. Goldsmith

CXX

NONGTONGPAW

John Bull for pastime took a prance,
Some time ago, to peep at France;
To talk of sciences and arts,

And knowledge gain'd in foreign parts.
Monsieur, obsequious, heard him speak,
And answer'd John in heathen Greek:
To all he ask'd, 'bout all he saw,
'Twas, 'Monsieur, je vous n'entends pas.'

John, to the Palais-Royal come,
Its splendour almost struck him dumb.
'I say, whose house is that there here?'
House! Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur.'
'What, Nongtongpaw again!' cries John;
'This fellow is some mighty Don:
No doubt he's plenty for the maw,
I'll breakfast with this Nongtongpaw.'

John saw Versailles from Marli's height,
And cried, astonish'd at the sight,

On

No

No

And