Here lay my master, William Jones;
I dug him up and ate his bones.
He had me earn my meagre keep
By rounding up his stupid sheep,
And though I added to his fame
In trialling until his name
Was everywhere applauded, yet
I merely got the odd rosette.
On One Man and His Dog you'd see
Far more of William than of me.
Even his obituarists forgot
To mention his devoted Spot.
I acted as his faithful slave
And stayed all night beside his grave
Ensuring thus his end would fit
His character – a proper sh**.