His Tail his Ensign he did make, Which he would oft display and shake, Fast in his Poop uprear'd: His Powder hot, but somewhat dank, His Shot in (scent) most dangerous rank, Which sometimes made him feared. Thus hath he long serv'd near and far, Well known to be a _Dog of War_, Though he ne'er shot with Musket: Yet Cannons roar or Culverings, That whizzing through the welkin sings, He slighted as a Pus-Cat. For Guns, nor Drums, nor Trumpets clang. Nor hunger, cold, nor many a pang, Could make him leave his Master: In Joy, and in Adversity, In Plenty, and in Poverty, He often was a Taster. Thus serv'd he on the _Belgia_ Coast, Yet ne'er was heard to brag or boast, Of Services done by him: He is no Pharisee to blow, A Trumpet, his good Deeds to show, 'Tis pity to bely him. At last he Home return'd in Peace, Till Wars, and Jars, and Scars increase 'Twixt us, and _France_, in malice: Away went he and crost the Sea, With's Master, to the Isle of _Rhea_, A good way beyond _Callice_. He was so true, so good, so kind, He scorn'd to stay at Home behind, And leave his Master frustrate; For which could I like _Ovid_ write, Or else like _Virgil_ could indite, I would his Praise illustrate. I wish my Hands could never stir, But I do love a thankful Curr, More than a Man ingrateful: And this poor Dog's Fidelity, May make a thankless Knave descry, How much that Vice is hateful. For why, of all the Faults of Men, Which they have got from Hell's black Den, Ingratitude the worst is: For Treasons, Murders, Incests, Rapes, Nor any Sin in any shapes, So bad, nor so accurst is. I hope I shall no Anger gain, If I do write a word Or twain, How this Dog was distressed; His Master being wounded dead, Shot, cut and slash'd, from Heel to Head, Think how he was oppressed. To lose him that he loved most, And be upon a Foreign Coast, Where no Man would relieve him: He lick'd his Masters Wounds in Love, And from his Carkass would not move, Altho' the sight did grieve him. By chance a Souldier passing by, That did his Masters Coat espy, And quick away he took it: But _Drunkard_ followed to a Boat, To have again his Master's Coat, Such Theft he could not brook it. So after all his wo and wrack, To _Westminster_ he was brought back, A poor half starved Creature; And in remembrance of his cares, Upon his back he closely wears A Mourning Coat by Nature.