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.