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?
Dickies enough are still behind,
To laugh at by and by.
Buried, June 18, 1728, aged 63.
More verses by Jonathan Swift
- Mr. William Crowe’s Address To Her Majesty, Turned Into Metre
- On A Circle
- Louisa To Strephon
- On A Very Old Glass At Market-Hill
- Stella At Wood Park, A House Of Charles Ford, Esq., Near Dublin