On the Death of the Earl of Rochester

As on his death-bed gasping Strephon lay,
Strephon the wonder of the plains,
The noblest of th' 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 this world, adieu,
And vain applauses of the age;
For when we quit this earthly stage,
Believe me, shepherds, for I tell you true;
Those pleasures which from virtuous deeds we have,
Procure the sweetest slumbers in the grave.

Then since your fatal hour must surely come,
Surely your heads lie low as mine,
Your bright meridian sun decline;
Beseech the mighty Pan to guard you home,
If to Elysium you would happy fly,
Live not like Strephon, but like Strephon die.