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‘Gentleman of the Jury:

The best friend a man has in the world may turn against him and become his enemy.

His son or daughter that he has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful.

Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom
we trust with our happiness and our good name may become traitors to their faith.

The money that a man has he may lose.

It flies away from him, perhaps, when he needs it most.

A man’s reputation may be sacrificed in the moment of ill-considered action.

The people who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honor when success is with us may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles it’s cloud upon our heads.

The one absolutely unselfish friend that man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog.
A man’s dog stands by him in prosperity and poverty, in health and sickness.

He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master’s side.

He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer; he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world.

He guards the sleep of his pauper master, as if he were a prince.

When all other friends desert, he remains.

When the riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces, he is constant in his love as the sun in it’s journey through the heavens.

If fortune drives the master forth an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that he accompany him, to guard
against danger, to fight against his enemies, and when the last scene of all comes, and death takes the master in it’s embrace, and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by the graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad, but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even in death.’

Senator Vest, 1870

Gentleman of the Jury:
The best friend a man has in the world may turn against him and become his enemy. ... .

Near this spot
Are deposited the Remains of one
Who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices.
This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
If inscribed over human ashes,
Is but a just tribute to the Memory of
BOATSWAIN, a DOG
Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803,
And died at Newstead, Nov 18th, 1808.

When some proud son of man returns to earth,

Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,

The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe,

And storied urns record who rest below:

When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,

Not what he was, but what he should have been:

But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,

The first to welcome, foremost to defend,

Whose honest heart is still his master's own,

Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,

Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth,

Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth:

While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,

And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.

Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,

Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,

Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,

Degraded mass of animated dust!

Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,

Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!

By nature vile, ennobled but by name,

Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.

Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,

Pass on --- it honours none you wish to mourn:

To mark a friend's remains these stones arise;

I never knew but one, --- and here he lies.

--George Gordon Noel, 6th Baron Byron [Lord Byron, who intended that he would be laid to rest beside his greatest friend, and so the other panel of the monument was left blank for Byron's epitaph. It did not turn out that way, and the panel remains blank.]