How oft she begg'd thy life, how oft she pray'd ?The seventh day came, and now the Fates beginTo end the thread, they had no more to spin;Yet still he talk'd, and when death nearer drew,His last breath said, "Corinna, now adieu!"There is a shady cypress grove below,And thither (if such doubtful things we know)The ghosts of pious birds departed go;'Tis water'd well, and verdant all the year,And birds obscene do never enter there;There harmless swans securely take their rest,And there the single Phoenix builds her nest;Proud peacocks there display their gaudy train,And billing turtles coo o'er all the plain:To these dark shades my parrot's soul shall go,And with his talk divert the birds below;Whilst here his bones enjoy a noble grave,A little marble, and an epitaph:-"In talking I did ev'ry bird excel,And my tomb proves my mistress lov'd me well."