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 wrangling 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.