Floyd has died and few have sobbed,
Since, had he lived, all had been robbed:
He's paid Dame Nature's debt, 'tis said
The only one he ever paid.
Some doubt that he resigned his breath,
But vow he has cheated even death.
If he is buried, oh! then, ye dead, beware,
Look to your swaddlings, of your shrouds take care,
Lest Floyd should to your coffins make his way,
And steal the linen from your mouldering clay.
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A private in battery F, Fourth U. S. artillery, writes the following epitaph for John B. Floyd:
Van Nostrand. New York, New York. 1862.
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