An Epitaph.
By William Cowper
Here lies one who never drew
Blood himself, yet many slew;
Gave the gun its aim, and figure
Made in field, yet neer pulld trigger.
Armed men have gladly made
Him their guide, and him obeyd;
At his signified desire
Would advance, present, and fire
Stout he was, and large of limb,
Scores have fled at sight of him!
And to all this fame he rose
Only following his nose.
Neptune was he calld, not he
Who controls the boisterous sea,
But of happier command,
Neptune of the furrowd land;
And, your wonder vain to shorten,
Pointer to Sir John Throckmorton.