To a Lady with an Unruly and Ill-mannered Dog Who Bit several Persons of Importance

Your dog is not a dog of grace;

    He does not wag the tail or beg;

    He bit Miss Dickson in the face;

    He bit a Bailie in the leg.

    What tragic choices such a dog

    Presents to visitor or friend!

    Outside there is the Glasgow fog;

    Within, a hydrophobic end.

    Yet some relief even terror brings,

  For when our life is cold and gray

  We waste our strength on little things,

  And fret our puny souls away.

  A snarl! A scruffle round the room!

  A sense that Death is drawing near!

  And human creatures reassume

  The elemental robe of fear.

  So when my colleague makes his moan

  Of careless cooks, and warts, and debt,

  — Enlarge his views, restore his tone,

  And introduce him to your Pet!

Quod Raleigh.