In which a vicar's dog named Mungo meets his end, and is tenderly memorialized. (Though what he really needed was a well timed drink of water. Shame on you, Rev. Cadogan.)
By the Honourable and Rev. W. B. Cadogan.
See, gentle reader, see this heap,
And o'er a faithful servant weep;
To whom, of high Atlantic birth, .
A grateful master rais'd this earth;
His living and his dying fame,
To tell and guard his Mungo's name.
Six years he kept the Vicar's yard,
By day and night its watch and ward;
Save, that whene'er his master seen,
With ears erect, and eyes how keen,
He'd leap and fly to his embrace,
Roll at his feet, or seek his face,
Or lift his paw, or shake his tail,
To speak a love that could not fail;
And watch, lest he should walk or ride,
Without his Mungo at his side.
Faithful to death, alas, to tell,
In this too fond pursuit he fell:—
'Twas on the twelfth of scorching May,
No streams refresh'd the thirsty way,
No clouds obscur'd the burning sun,
Close to his master's horse he run;
Till all his vital moisture dried.
And strength exhaust, he dropp'd and died
Here, gentle reader, though a brute,
He is not suffer'd to be mute;
If thou a Christian art, to you
He says, Thou hast a Master too;
One Master, Christ, who died for thee,
And speaks from heav'n, Live to me!
Thou call'st him Lord,—then follow thine,
As I, till death, have follow'd mine.
-- Gleanings from pious authors: with a choice collection of letters, some by the late J. Newton, and original poetry, by the author of Miscellaneous thoughts (London: Burton and Smith, 1824), pp. 180-81