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 every 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,

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 seemed both sore and sad Christian eye;

To every
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light,
That showed the rogues they lied;
The man recovered of the bite,

The dog it was that died.

O. GOLDSMITH.

The Friar

of Orders Gray

It was a friar of orders gray
Walkt forth to tell his beades ;

And he met with a lady faire

Clad in a pilgrime's weedes.

"Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar,

I pray thee tell to me,

If ever at yon holy shrine

My true love thou didst see."

"And how should I know your true love

From many another one?"

"O, by his cockle hat, and staff,

And by his sandal shoone.

"But chiefly by his face and mien,
That were so fair to view;
His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd,
And eyne of lovely blue."

"O lady, he is dead and gone!
Lady, he's dead and gone !
And at his head a green grass turfe,
And at his heels a stone.

"Within these holy cloysters long

He languisht, and he dyed, Lamenting of a ladyes love,

And playning of her pride.

"Here bore him barefac'd on his bier
Six proper youths and tall,

And many a tear bedew'd his grave
Within yon kirk-yard wall.”

"And art thou dead, thou gentle youth!

And art thou dead and gone!

And didst thou die for love of me!
Break, cruel heart of stone!"

"O weep not, lady, weep not soe :
Some ghostly comfort seek :
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,
Ne teares bedew thy cheek."

"O do not, do not, holy friar,
My sorrow now reprove;
For I have lost the sweetest youth,
That e'er wan ladyes love.

"And nowe, alas! for thy sad losse,

I'll evermore weep and sigh:

For thee I only wisht to live,
For thee I wish to dye."

Weep no more, lady, weep no more,
Thy sorrowe is in vaine :

For violets pluckt the sweetest showers
Will ne'er make grow againe.

"Our joys as winged dreams doe flye,
Why then should sorrow last?
Since grief but aggravates thy losse,
Grieve not for what is past."

"O say not soe, thou holy friar ;

I

pray thee, say not soe:

For since my true-love dyed for mee, 'Tis meet my tears should flow.

“And will he never come again?
Will he ne'er come again?

Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave,
For ever to remain.

“His cheek was redder than the rose ;
The comeliest youth was he?

But he is dead and laid in his grave :
Alas, and woe is me!"

66

Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever:

One foot on sea and one on land,
To one thing constant never.

"Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, And left thee sad and heavy ;

For young men ever were fickle found,
Since summer trees were leafy."

"Now say not soe, thou holy friar,
I pray thee say not soe;

My love he had the truest heart :
O he was ever true!