Another Epitaph (II)

Take to thy bosom, gentle earth, a swain
With much hard labour in thy service worn.
He set the vines, that clothe yon ample plain,
And he these olives, that the vale adorn.

He fill'd with grain the glebe, the rills he led,
Thro' this green herbage and those fruitful bow'rs;
Thou, therefore, earth! lie lightly on his head,
His hoary head, and deck his grave with flow'rs.