Oliver Goldsmith’s elegy isn’t a sad memorial but a sly joke. It tells of a man from Islington whose goodness is loudly proclaimed: he prays, he comforts, he “clads” the naked by putting on his own clothes. When a stray dog bites him after a falling-out, the whole neighborhood panics, certain the man will die from the mad animal’s wound. Then the poem flips everything. The man recovers completely—and the dog drops dead. The charm comes from deadpan delivery and the ironic gap between the glowing descriptions of the man and his actual deeds. The dog, supposedly mad, becomes the one who pays the price, as if the man’s hypocrisy were somehow poison. The speaker’s tone is dry and amused, never sentimental. The mood is playful, almost teasing, leaving you with a grin at the absurdity of it all.
An Elegy On The Death Of A Mad Dog — Summary
Good people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; And if you find it wondrous short, It cannot hold you long.
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 wond'ring neighbours ran, And swore the dog had lost its wits To bite so good a man.
The wound it seemed 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 showed the rogues they lied,— The man recovered of the bite, The dog it was that died!