WHOM HIM MASTER IN PASSION SLEW WITH ONE STROKE OF HIS FOOT .

H OWL and lament, ye Newland tykes and curs,
Ye who for lesser matters make great sturs;
Bark with a hideous noise, and direful moan,
For Tory's Turk, your captain's dead and gone.
The trusty punler of the Newland pease,
Lies breathless, ah! and none knew his disease;
His awful looks the traveller did affright,
The vagabond by day, the thief by night,
With vigilance and care he kept the store,
And seldom wandered from his master's door;
No beggar, yea no laird, durst make their entry
Without leave asked of this valiant sentry;
Hell's porter, Cerberus, though fierce and cruel,
Durst never face this hero at a duel.
Now he is past both physic, oil, and plaster,
And murdered lies by his too cruel master;
Who yet may vow and swear to his last breath,
He had no hand in his kind mastiff's death.