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 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 shew'd the rogues they lied, The man recovered of the bite, The dog it was that dy'd.
'A very good boy, Bill, upon my word, and an elegy that may truly be called tragical. Come, my children, here's Bill's health, and may he one day be a bishop.'
'With all my heart,' cried my wife; 'and if he but preaches as well as he sings, I make no doubt of him. The, most of his family, by the mother's side, could sing a good song: it was a common saying in our country, that the family of the Blenkinsops could never look strait before them, nor the Huginsons blow out a candle; that there were none of the Grograms but could sing a song, or of the Marjorams but could tell a story.'--'However that be,' cried I, 'the most vulgar ballad of them all generally pleases me better than the fine modern odes, and things that petrify us in a single stanza; productions that we at once detest and praise. Put the glass to your brother, Moses.--The great fault of these elegiasts is, that they are in despair for griefs that give the sensible part of mankind very little pain. A lady loses her muff, her fan, or her lap-dog, and so the silly poet runs home to versify the disaster.'
'That may be the mode,' cried Moses, 'in sublimer compositions; but the Ranelagh songs that come down to us are perfectly familiar, and all cast in the same mold: Colin meets Dolly, and they hold a dialogue together; he gives her a fairing to put in her hair, and she presents him with a nosegay; and then they go together to church, where they give good advice to young nymphs and swains to get married as fast as they can.'
'And very good advice too,' cried I, 'and I am told there is not a place in the world where advice can be given with so much propriety as there; for, as it persuades us to marry, it also furnishes us with a wife; and surely that must be an excellent market, my boy, where we are told what we want, and supplied with it when wanting.'
'Yes, Sir,' returned Moses, 'and I know but of two such markets for wives in Europe, Ranelagh in England, and Fontarabia in Spain.' The Spanish market is open once a year, but our English wives are saleable every night.'
'You are right, my boy,' cried his mother, 'Old England is the only place in the world for husbands to get wives.'--'And for wives to manage their husbands,' interrupted I. 'It is a proverb abroad, that if a bridge were built across the sea, all the ladies of the Continent would come over to take pattern from ours; for there are no such wives in Europe as our own. 'But let us have one bottle more, Deborah, my life, and Moses give us a good song. What thanks do we not owe to heaven for thus bestowing tranquillity, health, and competence. I think myself happier now than the greatest monarch upon earth. He has no such fire-side, nor such pleasant faces about it. Yes, Deborah, we are now growing old; but the evening of our life is likely to be happy.
