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The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/The Epitaph


HERE, five feet deep, lies on his back
A cobbler, starmonger, and quack;
Who, to the stars in pure good will,
Does to his best look upward still.
Weep, all you customers that use
His pills, his almanacks, or shoes:
And you that did your fortune seek,
Step to his grave but once a week;
This earth, which bears his body's print,
You'll find has so much virtue in 't,
That I durst pawn my ears, 'twill tell,
Whatever concerns you full as well,
In physick, stolen goods, or love,
As he himself could, when above.