Here lies one who never drew <br />Blood himself, yet many slew; <br />Gave the gun its aim, and figure <br />Made in field, yet ne'er pulled trigger. <br />Armed men have gladly made <br />Him their guide, and him obeyed; <br />At his signified desire, <br />Would advance, present, and fire. <br />Stout he was, and large of limb, <br />Scores have fled at sight of him; <br />And to all his fame he rose <br />Only following his nose. <br />Neptune was he called; not he <br />Who controls the boisterous sea. <br />But of happier command, <br />Neptune of the furrowed land; <br />And, your wonder vain to shorten, <br />Pointer to Sir John Throckmorton.<br /><br />William Cowper<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-epitaph-10/
