Epitaph on Fop, a Dog Belonging to Lady Throckmorton

Though once a puppy, and though Fop by name,
Here moulders one whose bones some honour claim.
No sycophant, although of spaniel race,
And though no hound, a martyr to the chace--
Ye squirrels, rabbits, leverets, rejoice,
Your haunts no longer echo to his voice;
This record of his fate exulting view,
He died worn out with vain pursuit of you.
"Yes,"--the indignant shade of Fop replies--
"And worn with vain pursuit, man also dies."