Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree.

No one but a fool would measure their satisfaction by what the world thinks of it.

Good counsel rejected returns to enrich the givers bosom.

And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to sleep, A shade that follows wealth or fame, And leaves the wretch to weep?

The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind.

And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

A volcano may be considered as a cannon of immense size.