EPITAPHS. ON MRS. M. HIGGINS, OF WESTON. LAURELS may flourish round the conqueror's tomb, And their exploits are veil'd from human sight. ON MR. HAMILTON. PAUSE here, and think: a monitory rhyme Consult life's silent clock, thy bounding vein; And many a tomb, like HAMILTON's, aloud Exclaims, Prepare thee for an early shroud.' ON FOP, A DOG BELONGING TO LADY THROCKMORTON. AUGUST 1792. 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; He died worn out with vain pursuit of you. ON A HARE. HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue, Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew, Old Tiney, surliest of his kind, Though duly from my hand he took He did it with a jealous look, And, when he could, would bite. His diet was of wheaten bread, On twigs of hawthorn he regaled, And, when his juicy salads fail'd, A Turkey carpet was his lawn, His frisking was at evening hours, But most before approaching showers, Or when a storm drew near. Eight years and five round-rolling moons And every night at play. I kept him for his humour's sake, My heart of thoughts that made it ake, But now beneath his walnut shade He still more aged feels the shocks, |