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.
Epitaph On Fop, A Dog Belonging To Lady Throckmorton.
William Cowper
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