The Request.

SO may you Spring, and so Heav'ns choisest Dew,
In Nightly-Show'rs, distill fair Plants on You;
As You on Me Your rankest Venom shed,
Whil'st at Your Feet I make My grassie Bed.
And Thou O Goddess (whose Obliging Womb
Affords the Living Food, the Dead a Tomb)
Permit Me ere I dye, to dig my Grave;
'Tis all My starv'd Ambition now will crave!
I Rob Thee not; for, tho My delving Spade
Dislodge thy Mould, yet there's no Trespass made:
For I the petty Damage shall Repay,
Filling the Vacant Ground with My own Clay.