Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 18.djvu/452

438 All are ripe and courting sue, To be pluck'd and press'd by you. Pinks have lost their blooming red, Mourning hang their drooping head, Every flower languid seems, Wants the colour of thy beams, Beams of wond'rous force and power, Beams reviving every flower. Come, Cadenus, bless once more, Bless again thy native shore, Bless again this drooping isle, Make its weeping beauties smile, Beauties that thine absence mourn, Beauties wishing thy return: Come, Cadenus, come with haste, Come before the winter's blast; Swifter than the lightning fly, Or I, like Vanessa, die.

ERE lies the earl of Suffolk's fool, Men call'd him Dicky Pearce; His folly served to make folks laugh, When wit and mirth were scarce. Poor Dick, alas! is dead and gone, What signifies to cry? Dickies enough are still behind, To laugh at by and by. Buried June 18, 1728, aged 63. EPITAPH,