Great individuals all, of each sort,

Great individuals all, of each sort,

Give ear unto my melody;

Also, on the off chance that you think that its wondrous short,

It can't hold you long.

In Islington there was a man

Of whom the world may state,

That still a faithful race he ran—

Whene'er he went to ask.

A kind and delicate heart he had,

To comfort companions and adversaries;

The bare each day he clad—

When he put on his garments.

Also, in that town a pooch was found,

The same number of puppies there be,

Both crossbreed, young doggie, whelp, and dog,

What's more, mongrels of low degree.

This puppy and man at first were companions;

Yet, when a provoke started,

The puppy, to increase some private closures,

Went distraught, and bit the man.

Around from all the neighboring avenues

The wond'ring neighbors ran,

What's more, swore the canine had lost its minds

To chomp so great a man.

The injury it appeared to be both sore and miserable

To each Christian eye;

And keeping in mind that they swore the puppy was distraught,

They swore the man would bite the dust.

Be that as it may, soon a ponder became exposed

That demonstrated the mavericks they lied,—

The man recuperated of the nibble,

The pooch it was that kicked the bucket!