Epitaph On Fop, A Dog Belonging To Lady Throckmorton.

A poem by William Cowper

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.”

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