Near this Spot
are deposited the Remains of one
who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
and all the virtues of Man without his Vices.
This praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
if inscribed over human Ashes,
is but a just Tribute to the Memory of a Dog.
When some proud Son of Man returns to Earth,
Unknown by Glory, but upheld by Birth,
The sculptor's art exausts the pomp of woe,
And stories urns record that rests below.
When all is done, upon the Tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been.
But the poor Dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his Masters own,
Who labours, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonored falls, unnotic'd all his worth,
Deny'd in heaven the Soul he held on earth -
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Pass ye' on for this place holds none you wish to mourn
Only Pixie, the best of Dogs ever born.