Epitaph In Berkeley Church-Yard Gloucestershire
Here 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
Here 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
Ever eating, never cloying,
All-devouring, all-destroying,
Never finding full repast,
Till I eat the world at last
Daphne knows, with equal ease,
How to vex, and how to please;
But the folly of her
Makes her sole delight to vex
Spite of Dutch friends and English foes,
Poor Britain shall have peace at last:
Holland got towns, and we got blows; But Dunkirk's ours, we'll hold it fast
We have got it in a string, And the Whigs may all go swing,
Harley, the nation's great support,
Returning home one day from court,
His mind with public cares possest,
All Europe's business in his breast,
Stella this day is thirty-four,(We shan't dispute a year or
However,
Stella, be not troubled,
Although thy size and years are doubled,
HE shepherds and the nymphs were
Pleading before the Cyprian Queen
The counsel for the fair
Accusing the false creature, man
To their Excellencies the Lords Justices of Ireland,
The humble petition of Frances Harris,
Who must starve and die a maid if it miscarries;
Humble sheweth, that I went to warm myself in Lady Betty's chamber, because I was cold;
IR, Pray discruciate what follows
The dullest beast, and gentleman's liquor,
When young is often due to the vicar,[1]The dullest of beasts, and swine's delight,
Make up a bird very swift of flight
This day (the year I dare not tell) Apollo play'd the midwife's part;
Into the world Corinna fell, And he endued her with his art
But Cupid with a Satyr comes; Both softly to the cradle creep;
Both stroke her hands, and rub her gums...
Her dead lady's joy and comfort,
Who departed this
The last day of March, 1727:
To the great joy of
At Market-Hill, as well appears By chronicle of ancient date,
There stood for many hundred years A spacious thorn before the gate
Hither came every village maid, And on the boughs her garland hung,
And here, beneath the spreading sh...