A pastoral elegy

As on his death-bed gasping Strephon lay;

Strephon the wonder of the plains;

The noblest of the Arcadian swains;

Strephon the bold, the witty and the gay:

With many a sigh, and many a tear he said,

Remember me, ye shepherds, when I'm dead.

Ye trifling glories of the world adieu.

And vain applauses of the age;

For when we quit this mortal stage,

Believe me, shepherds, for I tell you true,

Those pleasures which from virtuous deeds we have,

Create the sweetest slumbers in the grave.

Then since your fatal hour will surely come,

Surely your heads lay low as mine,

Your bright meridian sun decline,

Beseech the mighty Pan to guard you home,

If in Elysium you would happy be:

Live not like Strephon, but like Strephon die.