Page:Retaliation - Goldsmith (1774).pdf/21

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Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam,The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home;Would you ask for his merits, alas! he had none,What was good was spontaneous, his faults were his own.
Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must sigh at,Alas, that such frolic should now be so quiet!What spirits were his, what wit and what whim,Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb;Now rangling and grumbling to keep up the ball,Now teazing and vexing, yet laughing at all?In short so provoking a Devil was Dick,That we wish'd him full ten times a day at Old Nick.But missing his mirth and agreeable vein,As often we wish'd to have Dick back again.

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