The man recovered of the bite, The dog it was that died.
Oliver Goldsmith (1728 - 1774)
Source: Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog
Contributed by: Zaady
Man seems the only growth that dwindles here.
Source: The Traveller
And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree.
Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days Have led their children through the mirthful maze, And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore, Has frisk'd beneath the burden of threescore.
Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam,- His first, best country ever is at home.
Hope, like the gleaming taper's light, Adorns and cheers our way; And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray.
Source: The Captivity
To the last moment of his breath, On hope the wretch relies; And even the pang preceding death Bids expectation rise.
Like the bee, we should make our industry our amusement.
His best companions, innocence and health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.
Source: The Deserted Village
Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel.
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