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."