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diff --git a/34273-h/34273-h.htm b/34273-h/34273-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..59d7c69 --- /dev/null +++ b/34273-h/34273-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7861 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Gleanings in Graveyards, by Horatio Edward Norfolk</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + font-size: 200%; + } + + H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 30%; } + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Gleanings in Graveyards, by Horatio Edward +Norfolk + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Gleanings in Graveyards + a collection of Curious Epitaphs + + +Author: Horatio Edward Norfolk + + + +Release Date: November 10, 2010 [eBook #34273] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLEANINGS IN GRAVEYARDS*** +</pre> +<p>This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler.</p> +<h1>GLEANINGS IN GRAVEYARDS:</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">a collection +of</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">CURIOUS EPITAPHS.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">collated</span>, <span +class="smcap">compiled</span>, <span class="smcap">and +edited</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">by</span><br /> +HORATIO EDWARD NORFOLK,</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">honorary +secretary to the chelsea athenæum</span>.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>SECOND EDITION</i>.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">London:<br /> +JOHN RUSSELL SMITH, 36, SOHO SQUARE.<br /> +1861.</p> +<p><!-- page ii--><a name="pageii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +ii</span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">london</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">printed by p. pickton</span>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">perry’s place</span>, 29, <span +class="smcap">oxford street</span>.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page iii--><a +name="pageiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. iii</span><span +class="smcap">to</span><br /> +ROBERT HUNT, <span class="smcap">Esq.</span>, F.R.S., F.S.S.<br +/> +<span class="smcap">h.m. keeper of mining records</span>, <span +class="smcap">etc. etc.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">THIS LITTLE VOLUME</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">is +inscribed</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">with every +feeling of respect</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">as a small +tribute of gratitude</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">for many acts +of kindness</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">at his +hands</span>,</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by</span></p> +<p style="text-align: right">THE EDITOR.</p> +<h2><!-- page v--><a name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +v</span>CONTENTS.</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">page</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Epitaphs in England</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span +class="smcap">Wales</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page107">107</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> <span +class="smcap">Scotland</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page111">111</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Miscellaneous</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><!-- page vii--><a name="pagevii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. vii</span>PREFACE.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(TO THE FIRST EDITION.)</p> +<p>Although this country may be behind many others in the poetic +or classic character of its monumental inscriptions, it is +certainly not so in the production of Epitaphs of a curious and +absurd character. Whether it is that the British are, as a +nation, witty and humorous, and that they are desirous that their +peculiarities should be recorded even in the sanctuaries of their +dead, or that they consider <i>true</i> records of the departed +to be of little or no value, has yet to be shown. It is, +however, remarkable that if we refer to the epitaphial records of +other nations, we find that they are, as a rule, noted for their +beauty, elegance, or truth, whereas of the many graveyards in +Great Britain there is scarcely one that does not afford examples +of humourous effusions.</p> +<p>The Egyptians, although they do not furnish us with many +epitaphs worthy of note, do not seem to have devoted themselves +to the production of frivolous inscriptions, but contented +themselves with inscribing on their sarcophagi and coffins, the +name, descent, and functions of the departed.</p> +<p>The Greeks (as Mr. Pettigrew remarks in his <i>Chronicles of +the Tombs</i>), “wrote their epitaphs in elegiac verse, and +afterwards in prose, and the collections published by various +hands are well known to, and duly appreciated by, +scholars.”</p> +<p>The Roman tombs also afford us an example worthy of imitation, +in the purity and simplicity of their inscriptions. They +usually began with D. M. (Diis Manibus), followed by the name, +office, and age of the deceased, and a conclusion, which informed +the reader by whom or through what means the inscription was +erected.</p> +<p>Whether the Saxons or the Danes used monumental <!-- page +viii--><a name="pageviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +viii</span>inscriptions, either in their own or in the Latin +tongue, has been doubted. The few which we have for people +of the Saxon times, are probably the compositions of a later +date. Three or four small slabs, however, bearing crosses +and some early British female names, supposed to be those of +nuns, were dug up some years ago at Hartlepool.</p> +<p>We are informed also, by the above quoted author, that +“in this country, in early times, were inscriptions +prohibited to be engraven on any tombs but those belonging to +persons distinguished either by their high position, as governors +of the kingdom or as military commanders, or remarkable for their +wisdom and virtues.” Since this prohibition has been +removed, however, no time seems to have been lost in showing the +necessity for, and the advantage of, such regulation.</p> +<p>The following pages are intended to convey some idea, to those +who have not the opportunity to search our churchyards for +themselves, of the extent to which the practice has been carried +of inscribing tombstones with verses remarkable either for their +quaintness, or their rude attempts at humour.</p> +<p>It has been thought advisable to intersperse with the curious +Epitaphs a few inscriptions, more elegant in their composition, +and more praiseworthy in their purport.</p> +<p>The Miscellaneous are for the most part authentic, and so +frequently placed on gravestones, that to prevent repetition it +has been thought best to arrange them in a chapter by +themselves.</p> +<p>It is hoped, that while this collection of curious Epitaphs +may afford amusement to all, that it will not prove offensive to +any, nor fail to convey the salutary lesson that a healthful +smile may be elicited from the homely record of human woe.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">H. E. N.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Chelsea Athenæum</span>,<br /> + 1<i>st April</i>, 1861.</p> +<h2><!-- page 1--><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +1</span>EPITAPHS.</h2> +<h3>Bedfordshire.</h3> +<h4>COLMWORTH.</h4> +<p>Here is a magnificent monument, erected in 1611, by Lady Dyer, +in memory of her deceased husband, Sir William Dyer, the +inscription upon which tells us that “they multiplied +themselves into seven children.” Beneath are the +following quaint lines:—</p> +<blockquote><p>My dearest dust, could not thy hasty day<br /> +Afford thy drowsy patience leave to stay<br /> +One hour longer, so that we might either<br /> +Have set up, or gone to bed together!<br /> +But since thy finished labour hath possessed<br /> +Thy weary limbs with early rest,<br /> +Enjoy it sweetly, and thy widow bride<br /> +Shall soon repose her by thy slumbering side!<br /> +Whose business now is to prepare<br /> +My nightly dress and call to prayer.<br /> +Mine eyes wax heavy, and the days grow old,<br /> +The dew falls thick—my blood grows cold:—<br /> +Draw, draw the closed curtains, and make room,<br /> +My dear, my dearest dust, I come, I come.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>EDWORTH.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies father, and mother, and sister, and +I,<br /> +We all died within the space of one year,<br /> +They be all buried at Whimble except I,<br /> +And I be buried here.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 2--><a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +2</span>LUTON.</h4> +<p>In the “Wenlock Chapel” in the above church, on an +embattled altar-tomb is a recumbent figure of a +priest—representing William Wenlock, who died 1392. +Round the verge of the tomb is inscribed, in ancient +characters,—</p> +<blockquote><p>. . . . Ilemus hic tumulatus de Wenlock +natus; in ordine presbiteratus; alter hujus ille: dominus meus +fuit ville: hic jacet indignus: anime Deus esto benignus!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>On the side of the tomb,—</p> +<blockquote><p>In Wenlock brad I: in this town lordshcippes had +I! here am I now lady: Christes moder help me lady. Under +these stones: for a tym shal I rest my bones; deyn mot I ned +ones. Myghtful God gra’t me thy woues. +Ame’.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Formerly in a window of this chapel was a portrait of Wenlock, +with the following inscription:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Jesu Christ, most of might,<br /> +Have mercy on John de Wenlock, knight,<br /> +And of his wife Elizabeth,<br /> +Which out of this world is passed by death,<br /> +Which founded this chapel here,<br /> +Help thou them with your hearty prayer,<br /> +That they may come unto that place,<br /> +Where ever is joy and solace.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>On an altar-tomb in the tower is the following:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Thomas Gilbert here doth stai<br /> +Waiting for God’s judgment day,<br /> +Who died August 25, 1566.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A slab on the floor of the south aisle bears this +inscription,—</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lyeth the body of Daniel Knight,<br /> +Who all my lifetime lived in spite.<br /> +<!-- page 3--><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +3</span>Base flatterers sought me to undoe,<br /> +And made me sign what was not true.<br /> +Reader take care, whene’er you venture<br /> +To trust a canting false dessenter,<br /> +Who died June 11th, in the 61st year of his age,<br /> + 1756.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A friend of Daniel Knight (at whose instigation the above +epitaph was engraved during his lifetime, and the future +tombstone used as a cupboard door) prepared an inscription for +his own tomb,—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Here lies the body of Thomas Proctor<br /> +Who lived and died without a doctor.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But fate, jealous of the reputation of the faculty, broke his +leg, and compelled him to sacrifice to Æsculapius.</p> +<h3>Berkshire.</h3> +<h4>BUCKLEBURY.</h4> +<p>Here lyeth the body of Samuel Wightwicke, Esqre. 1662.</p> +<blockquote><p> Heaven only knowes the Blisse +his soul inioyes,<br /> + Whil’s wee on earth seeke after fading +toyes,<br /> +And doe not mind how saints and angells singe<br /> +To see him thron’d with his eternall king.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>WEST WOODHAY.</h4> +<p>In the old church near Newbury, is the following epitaph to +the memory of Sir Ben Rudyerd:—</p> +<blockquote><p>John Grant, in memory of his deare and honoured +Master Sir Benjamin Rudyerd, knight, hath affixed this stone over +his grave with this epitaph made by Sir Benjamin in his younger +years:—</p> +<p><!-- page 4--><a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +4</span>Fond world, leave off this foolish trick<br /> +Of making epitaphs upon the dead;<br /> +Rather go write them on the quick,<br /> +Whose soules in earthly flesh lye buried.<br /> +For in this grave lyes nought of me<br /> +But my soules grave, two graves well turned to one.<br /> +Thus do I live, from death made free;<br /> +Trust me, good friend, I am not dead, but gone<br /> +To God and Christ, my Saviour alone.<br /> + 1656.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>OLD WINDSOR.</h4> +<blockquote><p>When this you see remember me<br /> +As I lay under ground,<br /> +The world say what it will of me,<br /> +Speak of me as you have found.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ALDWORTH.</h4> +<p>There is a vulgar tradition that in this place four Johns were +buried, and they are described as follows:—John Long, John +Strong, John Ever-afraid, and John Never-afraid. They say +that John Ever-afraid was afraid to be buried either in the +church or out of it, and was consequently buried under the wall, +where the arch appears on the outside, by the south church +door.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>The following is a copy of an epitaph, now almost obliterated, +in Speen Churchyard, and which, admired for its simple pathos, +has been handed to us for insertion:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">In memory of John +Matthews, of Donnington, Berks,<br /> +1779.</p> +<p>When Heaven with equal eyes our quick’ning dust<br /> +Shall view, and judge the bad and praise the just,<br /> +His humble merits may perhaps find room<br /> +Where kings shall wish, but wish in vain to come.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p><!-- page 5--><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +5</span>In Sunning Hill Churchyard is the following epitaph on +the late Right Hon. Colonel Richard Fitzpatrick, written by +himself:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Whose turn is next? This monitory stone<br +/> +Replies, vain passenger perhaps thine own;<br /> +If idly curious, thou wilt seek to know<br /> +Whose relicks mingle with the dust below,<br /> +Enough to tell thee, that his destin’d span,<br /> +On earth he dwelt, and like thyself a man.<br /> +Nor distant far th’ inevitable day<br /> +When thou, poor mortal, shalt like him be clay;<br /> +Through life he walk’d un-emulous of fame,<br /> +Nor wish’d beyond it to preserve a name.<br /> +Content, if friendship, o’er his humble bier<br /> +Dropt but the heart-felt tribute of a tear;<br /> +Though countless ages should unconscious glide,<br /> +Nor learn that even he had lived and died.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>NEWBURY.</h4> +<p>On Eliz<sup>th</sup> Daughter of James Bond, 1659.</p> +<blockquote><p>Low, here she is, deprived of lyfe,<br /> +Which was a verteous and a loving wife;<br /> +Until the graves again restore<br /> +Their dead, and Time shall be no more;<br /> +She was brought a-bed, but spous above,<br /> +And dyed to pay the living pledge of love.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>On Mr. Hugh Shepley, sometime Rector of Newbvrye, 1596.</p> +<blockquote><p>Full eight and twenty years he was your pastor,<br +/> +As hee was taught to feede by Christ, his Master;<br /> +By preaching God’s Word, good life, good example,<br /> +(Food for your soules, fitt for God’s house or temple)<br +/> +<!-- page 6--><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +6</span>Hee loved peace, abandoned all strife,<br /> +Was kinde to strangers, neighbours, children, wife;<br /> +A lambe-like man, borne on an Easter daye,<br /> +So liv’d, so dide, so liv’s again for aye;<br /> +As one Spring brought him to this world of sinne,<br /> +Another Spring the Heavens received him in.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>In the Parish Church of Aldermaston is the +following:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">To the precious memorie +of four Virtuous Sisters,<br /> +daughters of Sir H. Forster, 1623.</p> +<p>Like borne, like new-borne, here like dead they lye,<br /> +Four virgin sisters, decked with pietie;<br /> +Beavtie and other graces, which commend<br /> +And make them all like blessed in their end.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>CHADDLEWORTH.</h4> +<p>To the memory of Mary, wife of Thomas Nelson, of this parish, +who died 1618, beinge of the age of 30 years, and had issue 7 +children.</p> +<blockquote><p>If thou religious art that passest by<br /> +Stay and reade on; as thou art so was I:<br /> +If thou art blest with children, and dost crave<br /> +In God’s feare them trayned up to have<br /> +Reade on agayn, and to thyself thus tell<br /> +Here she doth lye that was my parallel;<br /> +Or art thou bounteous, hospitable, free,<br /> +Belov’d of all, and they beloved of thee;<br /> +Meeke, full of mercy, and soe truly good<br /> +As flesh can be, and spronge of gentle blood?<br /> +If thou art soe, to thine own dear selfe saye,<br /> +Who on her grave my monument did lay?<br /> +But if to these thou knowst thyselfe but chaffe,<br /> +Pass on thy waye, reade not my epitaphe.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 7--><a +name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span>Also Dorothy +Nelson, wife of William Nelson, who died<br /> +1619, being of 86 years, and had issue 7 children.</p> +<blockquote><p>It was not many years that made mee good,<br /> +Neither was it in the vigor of my blood;<br /> +For if soe then my goodness might have past,<br /> +And as I did, have ceast to be at laste.<br /> +But ’twas the grace my Maker did enshrine<br /> +In my meeke breast, which cleerely there did shine.<br /> +As my soul now amongst the chosen blest,<br /> +Under this stone although my bones doe rest.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>PEWSEY.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the body<br /> +Lady O’Looney,<br /> +Great niece of Burke, commonly<br /> +called the Sublime.<br /> + She was<br /> +Bland, passionate, and deeply religious;<br /> +Also she painted in water colours,<br /> +And sent several pictures to the Exhibition.<br /> +She was first cousin to Lady Jones.<br /> +And of such is the kingdom of heaven.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ALLWORTH CHAPEL, WINDSOR.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies a modell of frail man,<br /> +A tender infant, but a span<br /> +In age or stature. Here she must<br /> +Lengthen out both bedded in dust.<br /> +Nine moneths imprisoned in ye wombe,<br /> +Eight on earth’s surface free; ye tombe<br /> +Must now complete her diarie,<br /> +So leave her to aeternatie.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 8--><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +8</span>Buckinghamshire.</h3> +<h4>DATCHET.</h4> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">epitaph on two sisters</span>.</p> +<p>A tender mother, aunt, and friend,<br /> +They continued to their end.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>HIGH WYCOMBE.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Death is a fisherman; the world we see<br /> +A fish-pond is, and we the fishes be;<br /> +He sometimes angles, like doth with us play,<br /> +And slily take us, one by one away.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>IVER.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On William Hawkins.</p> +<blockquote><p>Once at his death, and twice in wedlocke blest;<br +/> +Thrice happy in his labour and his rest;<br /> +Espoused now to Christ, his head in life,<br /> +Being twice a husband, and in death a wife.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Lady.</p> +<blockquote><p>Two happy days assigned are to men—<br /> +Of wedlocke and of death. O happy then,<br /> +’Mongst women was she who is here interred,<br /> +Who lived out two, and, dying, had a third.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">On Richard Carter.</p> +<blockquote><p>An honest man, a friend sincere,<br /> +What more can be said? He’s buried here.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>FARNHAM.</h4> +<blockquote><p>A sudden death, a mind contented;<br /> +Living beloved, dead lamented.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 9--><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +9</span>WYCOMBE.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies one, whose rest<br /> +Gives me a restless life;<br /> +Because I’ve lost a good<br /> +And virtous wyfe.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Cambridgeshire.</h3> +<h4>ALL SAINT’S CHURCH, CAMBRIDGE.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Epitaph of a Wine Merchant.</p> +<blockquote><p>“In Obitum Mio Johannis Hammond +Ænopolæ Epitaphium<br /> +“Spiritus ascendit generosi Nectaris astra,<br /> +“Juxta Altare Calex hic facet ecco sacrum<br /> +“Corporu +αναδταδει +cū fit Communia magna<br /> +“Unio tunc fuerit Nectaris et Calicis.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>SOHAM</h4> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p>1</p> +</td> +<td><p>To God</p> +</td> +<td><p>2</p> +</td> +<td><p>To Prince</p> +</td> +<td><p>3</p> +</td> +<td><p>Wife</p> +</td> +<td><p>4</p> +</td> +<td><p>Kindred</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>5</p> +</td> +<td><p>Friend</p> +</td> +<td><p>6</p> +</td> +<td><p>Poor</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>1</p> +</td> +<td><p>Religious</p> +</td> +<td><p>2</p> +</td> +<td><p>Loyal</p> +</td> +<td><p>3</p> +</td> +<td><p>True</p> +</td> +<td><p>4</p> +</td> +<td><p>Kind</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>5</p> +</td> +<td><p>Steadfast</p> +</td> +<td><p>6</p> +</td> +<td><p>Dear</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>1</p> +</td> +<td><p>In Zeal</p> +</td> +<td><p>2</p> +</td> +<td><p>Faith</p> +</td> +<td><p>3</p> +</td> +<td><p>Love</p> +</td> +<td><p>4</p> +</td> +<td><p>Blood</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>5</p> +</td> +<td><p>Amity</p> +</td> +<td><p>6</p> +</td> +<td><p>And Store</p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="8"><p style="text-align: right">He hath so lived, +and so Deceased</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="8"><p style="text-align: right">Lie—Here.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p style="text-align: center"><br /> +<i>Translation</i>.</p> +<p>It consists of four lines, each of which contains five +ambusses, or ten syllables (which is evident, from the rhyming) +and therefore it should be read thus:—</p> +<blockquote><p>To God, to Prince, Wife, Kindred, Friend, the +Poor,<br /> + Religious, Loyal, True, Kind, Stedfast, Dear.<br /> +In Zeal, Faith, Love, Blood, Amity, and Store,<br /> + He hath so liv’d, and so Deceas’d, lies +here.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 10--><a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +10</span>The meaning appears to be, that the deceased was +Religious to God, Loyal to his Prince, true to his Wife, Kind to +his Kindred, Stedfast to his Friend, and Dear to the Poor; that +he was endued with those qualities all his life, and died in the +possession of them.—As to the Figures, most likely they +were used to distinguish particularly the relation which a word +in one line bore to that, which in another line had the same +figure.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>At BABRAHAM is this on Orazio Palovicini, who was the last +deputed to this country to collect the Peter pence; but instead +of returning to Rome, he divided the spoil with the Queen, and +bought the estate at Babraham.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies Orazio Palovicin,<br /> +Who robb’d the Pope to pay the Queen.<br /> +He was a thief. A thief? Thou liest!<br /> +For why? He robbed but antichrist.</p> +<p>Him Death with besom swept from Babraham,<br /> +Unto the bosom of old Abraham;<br /> +Then came Hercules, with his club,<br /> +And knocked him down to Beelzebub.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ALL SAINTS’, CAMBRIDGE.</h4> +<blockquote><p>She took the cup of life to sip,<br /> + Too bitter ’twas to drain;<br /> +She put it meekly from her lip,<br /> + And went to sleep again.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>At WOOD DITTON, on a gravestone in which is fixed an iron +dish, according to the instructions of the deceased:—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 11--><a +name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span>On William +Symons, ob. 1753, æt. 80.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies my corpse, who was the man<br /> +That loved a sop in the dripping pan;<br /> +But now, believe me I am dead,<br /> +See here the pan stands at my head.<br /> +Still for sops to the last I cried,<br /> +But could not eat, and so I died.<br /> +My neighbours, they perhaps will laugh,<br /> +When they do read my epitaph.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>CAIUS COLLEGE CHAPEL, A.D. 1613:—</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On William Webbe.</p> +<blockquote><p>A richer Webb than any art can weave,<br /> +The Soule that Faith to Christ makes firmly cleave.<br /> +This Webbe can Death, nor Devils, sunder nor untwist,<br /> +For Christ and Grace both groundwork are and List.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>At CASTLE CAMPS the following quaint epitaph on a former +rector:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Mors mortis morti mortem nisi morte dedisset,<br +/> +Æternæ Vitæ Janua clausa foret.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The translation is obviously,—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Unless the Death of Death (Christ) had +given death to death by his own death, the gate of eternal life +had been closed.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A poetic specimen of declension!</p> +<h4><!-- page 12--><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +12</span>ST. ANDREW’S CHURCH, CAMBRIDGE.</h4> +<blockquote><p>An angel beckoned and her spirit flew,<br /> +But oh! her last look it cut our souls in two.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ST. MARY’S, CAMBRIDGE.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On John Foster, Esq. of that +town.</p> +<blockquote><p>Nomen, decus, Tellus meum,<br /> + Quid referunt hæc ad te<br /> +Genus etiamque meum,<br /> + Clarum quid aut humile?</p> +<p>Forsan omnes alios longè<br /> + Ego antecellui,<br /> +Forsan cunctis aliis valdè<br /> + (Nam quid tunc?) succubui.</p> +<p>Ut hoc tu vides tumulum<br /> + Hospes certè satis est,<br /> +Ejus tu scis benè usum<br /> + Tegit—“Nihil” interest.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Translation</i>.</p> +<blockquote><p>My name, my country, what are they to thee?<br /> +What, whether high or low, my pedigree?<br /> +Perhaps I surpassed by far all other men,<br /> +Perhaps I fell below them all, what then?<br /> +Suffice it, stranger, that thou seest a tomb,<br /> +Its use thou knowest; it hides—“no matter +whom.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>CAMBRIDGE.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies interred, beneath this stone,<br /> +The bones of a true hearty one,<br /> +Who lived well and died better,<br /> +And sings in Heaven Glory for ever.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 13--><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +13</span>ELY.</h4> +<p>In the Cathedral is the following numerical +curiosity:—</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Human Redemption.</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">590</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">x</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">590</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">x</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">590</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">Born</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">•</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">Sara</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">•</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">Watts</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">Died</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">600</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">x</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">600</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">x</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">600</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">30</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">x</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">00</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">x</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">33</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">Aged</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">y 30</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">x</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">00</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">x</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">33</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">m 3</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">x</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">d 31</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">--</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">h 3</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">x</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">x</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">x</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">12</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><br /> +Nations make fun of his<br /> +Commands.<br /> +S. M. E.<br /> +Judgments begun on Earth.<br /> +In memory of<br /> +James Fountain,<br /> +Died August 21, 1767,<br /> +Aged 60 years.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>Philippa Brown, died November 22nd, 1738, aged 63.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here I lie, without the door,<br /> +The church is full, ’twill hold no more;<br /> +Here I lye, the less I pay,<br /> +And still I lie as warm as they.<br /> +When thou art dead, let this thy comfort be,<br /> +That all the world by turn, must follow thee.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Luke Simon, died May 25, 1784, +aged 63.</p> +<blockquote><p>Man’s life’s a snare, a labyrinth of +woe,<br /> +Which mortal men are doomed to struggle this;<br /> +<!-- page 14--><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +14</span>To-day he’s great, to-morrow he’s undone,<br +/> +And thus with hope and fear he travels on:<br /> +Till some disease, or else old age,<br /> +Calls us poor mortals trembling off the stage.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Cheshire.</h3> +<p>Copied from the tombstone of Mr. Samuel Johnson, commonly +called Maggoty Johnson, who was interred in a plantation or wood, +belonging to the Earl of Harrington, in Gawsworth, near +Macclesfield, Cheshire.</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">Under this stone</p> +<p>Rest the remains of Mr. Samuel Johnson, afterwards ennobled +with the grander title of Lord Flame. Who, after having +been in his life distinct from other men by the eccentricities of +his genius, chose to retain the same character after his death, +and was, at his own desire, buried here, May 5th, 1773, aged 82 +yrs.</p> +<p>Stay thou, whom chance directs, or ease persuades<br /> +To seek the quiet of these Sylvan shades;<br /> +Here, undisturb’d and hid from vulgar eyes,<br /> +A Wit, Musician, Poet, player lies;<br /> +A dancing master, too, in grace he shone,<br /> +And all the acts of Opera were his own;<br /> +In comedy well skill’d he drew Lord Flame,<br /> +Acted the part and gained himself the name.<br /> +Averse to strife, how oft he’d gravely say<br /> +These peaceful groves should shade his breathless clay;<br /> +That, when he rose again, laid here alone,<br /> +No friend and he should quarrel for a bone;<br /> +Thinking, that were some old lame Gossip nigh,<br /> +She possibly might take his leg or thigh.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 15--><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +15</span>PRESBURY.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Beneath this stône lyes Edward Green,<br /> +Who for cutting stône famous was seên.<br /> +But he was sênt to apprehend<br /> +One Joesph Clarke, of Kerredge End,<br /> +For stêaling Deer of Squire Dounes,<br /> +Where he was shôt, and died o’th wounds.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>DAVENHAM.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On David Berkenhead.</p> +<blockquote><p>A tailor by profession,<br /> +And in the practice, a plain and honest man.<br /> +He was a useful member of society;<br /> +For, though he picked holes in no man’s coat,<br /> +He was ever ready to repair<br /> +The mischief that others did.<br /> +And whatever <i>breaches</i> broke out in <i>families</i>,<br /> +He was the man to mend <i>all</i>,<br /> +And make matters up <i>again</i>.<br /> +He lived and died respected.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Forty years’ service in Lord Penryhn’s family, +induced Lady Penryhn to bestow this stone to his memory.</p> +<h4>CHESTER.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On an Old Woman who sold Pots.</p> +<blockquote><p>Beneath this stone lies Cath’rine Gray,<br +/> +Changed to a lifeless lump of clay.<br /> +By earth and clay she got her pelf,<br /> +Yet now she’s turn’d to Earth herself.<br /> +Ye weeping friends, let me advise,<br /> +Abate your grief, and dry your eyes.<br /> +For what avails a flood of tears?<br /> +Who knows, but in a run of years,<br /> +In some tall pitcher or broad pan,<br /> +She in her shop may be again?</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 16--><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +16</span>CHESTER.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Periwinks! Periwinkle! was ever her cry,<br /> +She laboured to live Poor and honest to die;<br /> +At the last day Again how her old Eyes will twinkle,<br /> +For no more will she cry, Periwinks! Periwinkle!<br /> +Ye Rich, to Virtue’s want rejoicing give,<br /> +Ye Poor, by her Example learn to live.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Sexton.</p> +<blockquote><p>Hurra! my brave Boys, let’s rejoice at his +fall,<br /> +For if he had lived he had Buried us all.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>WESTON.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Parish Church.</p> +<blockquote><p>There lies entomb’d within this vault so +dark,<br /> +A Tailor, cloth draw’r, soldier, and a clerk.<br /> +Death snatch’d him hence, and also from him took<br /> +His needle, thimble, sword, and prayer book.<br /> +He could not work nor fight, what then?<br /> +He left the world, and faintly cry’d—Amen.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ST. JOHN’S CHURCH, CHESTER.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On a swift-footed Man.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the swift racer; so fam’d for his +running,<br /> +In spite of his boasting, his swiftness and cunning,<br /> +In leaping o’er hedges, and skipping o’er fields,<br +/> +Death soon overtook him, and tript up his heels.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>GAWSWORTH.</h4> + +<blockquote><p> Reader, +take notice,<br /> + That on y<sup>e</sup> 12 Feby 1760,<br /> + Tho: Corbishley,<br /> +A brave veteran Dragoon<br /> + Here went into his quarters.<br /> +<!-- page 17--><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +17</span>But remember that when<br /> + The trumpet calls<br /> +He’ll out and march again.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Cornwall.</h3> +<h4>TRURO.</h4> +<blockquote><p>A Dyer born, a dyer bred,<br /> +Lies numbered here among the dead;<br /> +Dyers, like mortals doomed to die,<br /> +Alike fit food for worms supply.<br /> +Josephus Dyer was his name,<br /> +By dyeing he acquired fame;<br /> +’Twas in his forty-second year,<br /> +His neighbours kind did him inter.<br /> +Josephus Dyer, his first son,<br /> +Doth also lie beneath this stone;<br /> +So likewise doth his second boy,<br /> +Who was his parents’ hope and joy.<br /> +His handiwork did all admire,<br /> +For never was a better dyer.<br /> +Both youths were in their fairest prime,<br /> +Ripe fruitage of a healthful clime;<br /> +But nought can check Death’s lawless aim,<br /> +Whosoever life he choose to claim;<br /> +It was God’s edict from the throne,<br /> +“My will upon earth shall be done.”<br /> +Then did the active mother’s skill<br /> +The vacancy with credit fill,<br /> +Till she grew old, and weak, and blind,<br /> +And this last wish dwelt on her mind—<br /> +That she, when dead, should buried be<br /> +With her loved spouse and family,<br /> +At last Death’s arm her strength defied;<br /> +Thus all the dyeing Dyers died.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 18--><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>“A prolonged medical statement of the disease of +which the departed may chance to have died, is extremely +popular. At Acton, in Cornwall, there is this particular +account of how one Mr. Morton came by his end:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Here lies entombed one Roger Morton,<br /> +Whose sudden death was early brought on;<br /> +Trying one day his corn to mow off,<br /> +The razor slipped and cut his toe off:<br /> +The toe, or rather what it grew to,<br /> +An inflammation quickly flew to;<br /> +The parts they took to mortifying,<br /> +And poor dear Roger took to dying.”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>“Here is what a Cornish gentleman finds it in his heart +to inscribe upon his dear departed:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“My wife is dead, and here she lies,<br /> +No man laughs and no man cries,<br /> +Where she’s gone, or how she fares,<br /> +Nobody knows and nobody cares.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>PENRYN.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies William Smith,<br /> +And what is somewhat rarish,<br /> +He was born, bred, and<br /> +Hanged in this parish.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>CALSTOCK.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Susanna Jones,<br /> +1812.</p> +<blockquote><p>All you that read those lines<br /> +Would stop awhile and think,<br /> +That I am in eternity,<br /> +And you are on the brink.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 19--><a +name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>Mary +Matthews,<br /> +1846.</p> +<blockquote><p>This harmless dove, our tender love,<br /> +Flew from this world of vice,<br /> +To peace and rest, for ever blest,<br /> +With Christ in Paradise.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ST. PAUL’S CHURCHYARD, MOUSEHOLE.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On Dolly Pentreath.</p> +<blockquote><p>Old Doll Pentreath, one hundred age and two,<br /> +Both born and in Paul parish buried too;<br /> +Not in the church ’mongst people great and high,<br /> +But in the church-yard doth old Dolly lie!</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>STRATTON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Life’s like an Inn, think man this truth +upon,<br /> +Some only breakfast and are quickly gone;<br /> +Others to dinner stay and are full fed,<br /> +The oldest man but sups and goes to bed.<br /> +Large is his score who tarries through the day,<br /> +Who goes the soonest has the least to pay.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>SOUTH PETHERWIN.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Beneath this stone lies Humphrey and Joan,<br /> +Who together rest in peace,<br /> + Living indeed,<br /> + They disagreed,<br /> +But now all quarrels cease.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>LANDULPH.</h4> +<p>Here lyeth the body of Theodore Paleologus, of Pesaro, in +Italye, descended from the imperyal line of the last <!-- page +20--><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +20</span>Christian Emperor of Greece, being the sonne of Camillo, +the sonne of Prosper, the sonne of Theodore, the sonne of John, +the sonne of Thomas, the second brother of Constantine +Paleologus, that rayned in Constantinople until subdued by the +Turks, who married with Mary, the daughter of William Ball, of +Hadlye, in Suffolk, gent., and had issue five children, Theodore, +John, Ferdinando, Maria, and Dorothy; and departed this life at +Clyfton, the 21st of January, 1636.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Sir Francis Vere.</p> +<blockquote><p>When Vere sought death, arm’d with his sword +and shield,<br /> +Death was afraid to meet him in the field;<br /> +But when his weapons he had laid aside,<br /> +Death, like a coward, struck him, and he died.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ST. AGNES.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the body of Joan Carthew,<br /> +Born at St. Columb, died at St. Cue,<br /> +Children she had five,<br /> +Three are dead, and two alive,<br /> +Those that are dead chusing rather<br /> +To die with their Mother, than live with their Father.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>GUNWALLOE.</h4> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">Read backwards or +forwards—</p> +<p>Shall we all die?<br /> +We shall die all.<br /> +All die shall we—<br /> +Die all we shall.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 21--><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>GRADE.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Date 1671.</p> +<blockquote><p>Why here?—why not, it’s all one +ground,<br /> +And here none will my dust confound.<br /> +My Saviour lay where no one did—<br /> +Why not a member as his head,<br /> +No quire to sing, no bells to ring,<br /> +Why so thus buried was my king.<br /> +I grudge the fashion of the day<br /> +To fat the church and stane the lay,<br /> +Though nothing now of the be seen,<br /> +I hope my name and bed be green.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>CALSTOCK.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">James Berlinner, killed at Huel +Bedford, 1844.</p> +<blockquote><p>Consider well both old and young,<br /> + Who by my grave do pass,<br /> +Death soon may come with his keen scythe,<br /> + And cut you down like grass.<br /> +Tho’ some of you perhaps may think<br /> + From danger to be free,<br /> +Yet in a moment may be sent,<br /> + Into the grave like me.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">William Kellaway,<br /> +1822.</p> +<blockquote><p>My body is turned to dust,<br /> + As yours that living surely must,<br /> +Both rich and poor to dust must fall,<br /> + To rise again, when Christ doth call.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 22--><a +name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 22</span>Elizabeth +Roskelly,<br /> +1844.</p> +<blockquote><p>Farewell, dear husband, I bid adieu,<br /> +I leave nine children to God and you;<br /> +I hope you’ll live in peace and love,<br /> +I trust we all shall meet above.<br /> +Tho’ months and years in pain and tears,<br /> +Through troubled paths I’ve trod,<br /> +My Saviour’s voice bids me rejoice,<br /> +And calls my soul to God.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ST. NEOT.</h4> +<p>Here lieth the body of John Robyns, of this parish, buried the +27th day of December, 1724, about the 80th year of his age.</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">“Prosopeia +Defuncti.”</p> +<p>“Mark thou that readest, and my case behold,<br /> +Ere long thou shalt be closed in death’s fold,<br /> +As well as I; nothing on earth can save<br /> +Our mortal bodies, from the darksome grave.<br /> +Then timely think thereon, to mind thy end;<br /> +Wisely to be prepared when God shall send<br /> +To fetch thee hence; and then thou shalt but die,<br /> +To live at rest with Christ eternally.<br /> +“Here lieth John Robyns, in his bed of dust,<br /> +Who in the Lord did ever put his trust;<br /> +And dying, gave a pension to the poor,<br /> +Yearly for ever, which unlocks the door<br /> +Of everlasting bliss, for him to reign<br /> +With Christ his head, his great, and truest gain:<br /> +<!-- page 23--><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +23</span>And with the holy angels sit and sing<br /> +Eternal anthems to the heavenly king.”<br /> +“If this stone be not kept in repair,<br /> +The legacy devolves unto his heir.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BODMIN.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the Body of John Meadow,<br /> +His life passed away like a shadow.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>TRURO.</h4> +<blockquote><p> Here lies +we<br /> + Babies three,<br /> +Here we must lie<br /> +Until the Lord do cry,<br /> +“Come out, and, live wi’ I!”</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Derbyshire.</h3> +<h4>BAKEWELL.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On a defunct Parish Clerk.</p> +<blockquote><p>The vocal Powers here let us mark,<br /> +Of Philip our late Parish Clerk,<br /> +In Church was ever heard a layman,<br /> +With clearer voice say Amen?<br /> +Who now with Hallelujah sound<br /> +Like him can make the roofs rebound?<br /> +<!-- page 24--><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +24</span>The Choir lament his choral tones;<br /> +The town so soon here lie his bones.<br /> +Sleep undisturbed within thy peaceful shrine,<br /> +Till angels wake thee with such notes as thine.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Devonshire.</h3> +<h4>STOKE FLEMING.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">By Dr. Walcot, alias Peter +Pindar.</p> +<p>To the Memory of Margaret Southcotte, who died the 27th of +August, 1786, aged 12 years and 9 months.</p> +<blockquote><p>Beneath this stone, in sweet repose,<br /> + The friend of all, a fair one lies:<br /> +Yet hence let Sorrow vent her woes,<br /> + Far hence let Pity pour her sighs;<br /> +Tho’ every hour thy life approv’d,<br /> + The muse the strain of grief forbears;<br /> +Nor wishes, tho’ by all belov’d,<br /> + To call thee to a world of cares.<br /> +Best of thy sex, alas! farewell,<br /> + From this dark scene remov’d to shine,<br /> +Where purest shades of mortals dwell,<br /> + And virtue waits to welcome thine.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>An ill-natured critic wrote the following under these +beautiful lines:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Can a Southcotte be said to deserve all the +praise<br /> + Which above in the rhymes may be seen?<br /> +But ’tis not impossible, since the stone says<br /> + She had not reached the age of thirteen!</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 25--><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span>LYDFORD.</h4> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">“Here lies, in a +<i>horizontal</i> position,<br /> +the outside <i>case</i> of<br /> +George Routleigh, Watchmaker,<br /> +whose abilities in that line were an honour to his<br /> +profession.<br /> +Integrity was the <i>mainspring</i>, and prudence the +<i>regulator</i><br /> +of all the <i>actions</i> of his life;<br /> +Humane, generous, and liberal, his <i>hand</i> never +<i>stopped</i><br /> +till he had relieved distress:<br /> +So nicely <i>regulated</i> was his <i>movements</i>,<br /> +that he never <i>went wrong</i>,<br /> +except when <i>set a-going</i><br /> +by people who did not know <i>his key</i>:<br /> +Even then he was easily <i>set right</i> again.<br /> +He had the art of disposing of his <i>Time</i>,<br /> +so well,<br /> +That his <i>hours</i> glided away in one<br /> +continual <i>round</i> of pleasure and delight,<br /> +Till an unlucky <i>moment</i> put a <i>period</i> to his +existence.<br /> +He departed this life November 14, 1802,<br /> +aged 57, <i>wound up</i>,<br /> +in hopes of being taken in <i>hand</i> by his <i>Maker</i>:<br /> +and of being thoroughly <i>cleaned</i>, <i>repaired</i>, and +<i>set a-going</i><br /> +for the world to come.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>TAVISTOCK.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Under this stone lies three children dear,<br /> +Two be buried at Tawton, and the other here?</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p><!-- page 26--><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +26</span>Here is a still more entertaining one, upon a certain +lady in Devonshire, singularly free from any nonsensical pretence +or idle bravado:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Here lies Betsy Cruden,<br /> +She wood a leaf’d but she cooden,<br /> +’Twas na grief na sorrow as made she decay,<br /> +But this bad leg as carr’d she away.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>KINGSWEAR.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Vos qui ici venez<br /> +Pur l’alme Philip priez,<br /> +Trente jours de pardon<br /> +Serra vostre guerdon.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>KING’S TEIGNTON.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On Richard Adlam.</p> +<blockquote><p>Richardus Adlam hujus ecclesiæ Vicarius +obit<br /> +Feb. 10, 1670. Apostrophe ad Mortem.<br /> +“Dam’n’d tyrant, can’t profaner blood +suffice?<br /> +Must priests that offer be the sacrifice?<br /> +Go tell the genii that in Hades lye<br /> +Thy triumphs o’er this Sacred Calvary,<br /> +Till some just Nemesis avenge our cause,<br /> +And force this kill-priest to revere good laws!”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>EXETER.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Billeted here by death<br /> +In quarters I remain,<br /> +When the last trumpet sounds,<br /> +I’ll rise and march again.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 27--><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +27</span>KINGSBRIDGE.</h4> +<p>On a man who was too poor to be buried with his relations in +the Church:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lie I, at the Chancel door;<br /> +Here I lie, because I’m poor;<br /> +The further in the more to pay;<br /> +Here I lie as warm as they!</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BIDEFORD.</h4> +<blockquote><p>“Her marriage day appointed was,<br /> +And wedding-clothes provided,<br /> +But when the day arrivéd did,<br /> +She sickened and she died did.”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>“Here lies two brothers by misfortune +surrounded,<br /> +One died of his wounds and the other was drownded.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>MILTON ABBOT.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">To Bartholomew Doidge—And +Joan his wife.</p> +<blockquote><p>Joan was buried the 1<sup>st</sup> day of +Feby.’ 1681.<br /> +Bartholomew was buried the 12<sup>th</sup> day of Feby.’ +1681.<br /> +“She first deceas’<sup>d</sup>—he a little +try’<sup>d</sup><br /> +“To live without her—lik’d it not, and +died.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>AULIS-COMBE.</h4> +<p>Here lie the remains of James Pady, Brickmaker, late of the +parish, in hopes that his clay will be remoulded in a workmanlike +manner, far superior to his former perishable materials.</p> +<blockquote><p>Keep death and Judgement always in your eye,<br /> +Or else the devil off with you will fly,<br /> +And in his kiln with brimstone ever fry.<br /> +If you neglect the narrow road to seek,<br /> +Christ will reject you, like a half Burnt Brick.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 28--><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +28</span>MAKER.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">John Phillips, 1837.</p> +<blockquote><p>Vain man, in health and strength do not +confide,<br /> +This I enjoyed, yet in my bloom I died.<br /> +Not long before as likely for to live,<br /> +As any of the livliest sons of Eve.<br /> +But death may come in an untimely way,<br /> +Therefore prepare against that solemn day.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">John Linning, 1824.</p> +<blockquote><p>Stop, reader! stop and view this stone,<br /> +And ponder well where I am gone.<br /> +Then, pondering, take thou home this rhyme—<br /> +The grave next opened may be thine.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Richard Snell, 1801.</p> +<blockquote><p>At first I had a watery grave,<br /> +Now here on earth a place I have;<br /> +Wife and children don’t weep for me,<br /> +Fortune and Fate none can forsee.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>CREDITON.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On Eadulph, Bishop of Devon, ob. +932.</p> +<blockquote><p>Sis testis Christe, quod non jacet hic lapis +iste,<br /> +Corpus ut ornetur, sed spiritus ut memoretur.<br /> +Quisquis eris qui transiris, sta, perlege, plora;<br /> +Sum quod eris, fueramq; quod es; pro me precor ora.<br /> +Christ! bear me witness, that this stone is not<br /> +Put here t’adorn a body, that must rot;<br /> +But keep a name, that it mayn’t be forgot.<br /> +Whoso doth pass, stay, read, bewail, I am<br /> +What thou must be; was what thou art the same;<br /> +Then pray for me, ere you go whence ye came.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 29--><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +29</span>LYDFORD.</h4> +<p>Elizabeth Farington, wife of John Farington, of the county of +Nottingham. Twenty-five Knights were born in this +family. 1738.</p> +<blockquote><p>In Oxford born, in Lydford dust I lie,<br /> +Don’t break my grave until y<sup>e</sup> judgment day.<br +/> +Then shall I rise, in shining glory bright,<br /> +To meet my Lord with comfort and delight.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BRENT-TOR.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Wife of John Coleirm. +1694.</p> +<blockquote><p>If thou be curious, friend, peruse this stone;<br +/> +If thou be not soe, pray let it alone.<br /> +Against Death’s poison Virtue’s the best art,<br /> +When good men seem to die, they but depart.<br /> +Live well, then, all; with us thoult feele,<br /> +Bare dying makes no Death, but dying <i>weal</i>?</p> +<p style="text-align: center">[The last word was +obliterated.]</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>WHITECHURCH.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">John Spry and Margaret his wife.<br +/> +1738.</p> +<blockquote><p>In a good old age,<br /> + By death we did fall,<br /> +And here we must lie<br /> + Until Christ doth call.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Gregory Nicholas. 1840.</p> +<blockquote><p>—Sleep here awhile, Thou Dearest<br /> +Part of me, and in a little while I’ll<br /> +Come and sleep with thee.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 30--><a +name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>Thomas +Ching. 1857.</p> +<blockquote><p>In health and strength from home I went,<br /> +I thought so to return;<br /> +But while at work I lost my life,<br /> +And left my friends to mourn.<br /> +Then thou who knowest my fate,<br /> +While pondering o’er my sod,<br /> +So short may be thy date,<br /> +“Prepare to meet thy God.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>TIVERTON.</h4> +<p>On the tomb of Edward Courtenay, third Earl of Devon, commonly +called “the blind and good Earl,” an Epitaph, +frequently quoted, appears. The Earl died in 1419, and his +Countess was Maud, daughter of Lord Camoys.</p> +<blockquote><p>Hoe! hoe! who lies here?<br /> +I, the goode Erle of Devonshire;<br /> +With Maud, my wife, to me full dere,<br /> +We lyved togeather fyfty-fyve yere.<br /> +What wee gave, wee have;<br /> +Whatt wee spent wee had;<br /> +What wee left, we loste.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>WHITCHURCH.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Richard Shortridge. 1831.</p> +<blockquote><p> Hark! what is +that noise so mournful and slow,<br /> + That sends on the winds the +tickings of woe,<br /> + In sound like the knell of a +spirit that’s fled,<br /> + And tells us, alas! a brother is +dead?<br /> + Yes, gone to the grave is he whom +we lov’d<br /> + And lifeless the form that +manfully mov’d,<br /> + The clods of the valley encompass +his head,<br /> +This tombstone reminds us our brother is dead.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 31--><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +31</span>Dorsetshire.</h3> +<h4>WIMBORNE.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">John Penny.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here honest John, who oft the turf had paced,<br +/> +And stopp’d his mother’s earth, in earth is +placed,<br /> +Nor all the skill of John himself could save,<br /> +From being stopp’d within an earthly grave.<br /> +A friend to sport, himself of sporting fame,<br /> +John died, as he had lived, with heart of game—<br /> +Nor did he yield until his mortal breath<br /> +Was hard run down by that grim sportsman—Death.<br /> +Reader, if cash thou art in want of any,<br /> +Dig four feet deep, and thou wilt find—a Penny.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>EAST KNOWLE TURNPIKE.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Since Man to Man is so unjust,<br /> +That no Man knows what man to trust,<br /> +My Roads are good, my Toll’s just,<br /> +Pay to-day, to-morrow I’ll trust.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>WYKE.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">In memory of Eniah Harisdin.</p> +<p class="poetry">Also 4 sons who received the shock,<br /> +Whereof 3 lies here, and one do not.<br /> +What caused their parents for to weep,<br /> +Because that one lies in the Deep.</p> +<h4><!-- page 32--><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +32</span>LILLINGTON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>I poorly lived, I poorly died,<br /> +And when I was buried nobody cried.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Not born, not dead, not christen’d, not +begot,<br /> +So! here she lies, that was, and that was not;<br /> +She was born, baptized, is dead, and what is more,<br /> +Was in her life, not honest, not a -----<br /> +Reader, behold a wonder rarely wrought,<br /> +And whilst thou seem’st to read, thou readest +<i>not</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>DORCHESTER.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Frank from his Betty snatch’d by Fate,<br /> +Shows how uncertain is our state;<br /> +He smiled at morn, at noon lay dead—<br /> +Flung from a horse that kick’d his head,<br /> +But tho’ he’s gone, from tears refrain,<br /> +At judgment he’ll get up again.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>SILTON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies a piece of Christ—<br /> + a star in dust;<br /> +A vein of gold—a china dish,<br /> + that must—<br /> +Be used in Heaven, when God<br /> + shall feast the just.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 33--><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +33</span>Durham.</h3> +<h4>QUARRINGTON.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">To the memory of Thomas Bouchier, +dated 1635.</p> +<blockquote><p> The petterne of conjugale love, +the rare<br /> + Mirroure of +father’s care;<br /> + Candid to all, his ev’ry action +penn’d<br /> + The copy of a +frend,<br /> + His last words best, a glorious eve (they say)<br /> + Foretells a +glorious day,<br /> +Erected and composed with teares by his pensive<br /> + sonne, James +Bouchier.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>Amongst the ludicrous and eccentric Epitaphs, perhaps one of +the worst is that at Gateshead, on Robert Trollop, architect of +the Exchange and Town Court of Newcastle:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Here lies Robert Trollop,<br /> +Who made yon stones roll up:<br /> +When death took his soul up,<br /> +His body filled this hole up.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Essex.</h3> +<h4>BRENTWOOD.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">“Here lies Isaac +Greentree.”</p> +<p>A man passing through the churchyard wrote as +follows:—</p> +<blockquote><p>There is a time when these green trees shall +fall,<br /> +And Isaac Greentree rise above them all.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 34--><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +34</span>MESSING.</h4> + +<blockquote><p> Here +lieth buried<br /> + John +Porter, Yeoman,<br /> + who died +29th of April, 1600,<br /> + who had +issue eight sons and<br /> + four +daughters by one woman.<br /> +Learn to live by faith, as I did live before,<br /> +Learn u to give in faith, as I did at my door,<br /> +Learn u to keep by faith, as God be still thy store,<br /> +Learn u to lend by faith, as I did to the poor;<br /> +Learn u to live, to give, to keep, to lend, to spend,<br /> +That God in Christ, at day of death, may prove thy friend.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>CHELMSFORD.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Jane L. Andrews, æt. 22.</p> +<blockquote><p>How could we wish for her to stay below,<br /> +When joys in heaven for her prepared?<br /> +May we, like her, our passport have, and know,<br /> +Assuredly, that we shall gain admittance there;<br /> +Then will her joys be ours, and own her cry,—<br /> +We are content to live, but we would rather die.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>“Here lies the man Richard,<br /> +And Mary his wife;<br /> +Their surname was Pritchard<br /> +They lived without strife;<br /> +And the reason was plain,—<br /> +They abounded in riches,<br /> +They had no care or pain,<br /> +And his wife wore the breeches.”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">Martha Blewitt,<br /> +of the Swan, Baythorn-End,<br /> +of this Parish,<br /> +buried May 7th, 1681.<br /> +<!-- page 35--><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +35</span>Was the wife of nine Husbands<br /> +successively, but the 9th outlived her.<br /> +The Text to her Funeral Sermon was:—<br /> +“Last of all the Woman died also.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>MALDON.</h4> +<p>To the memory of Herbert George Anna, a third child, all born +at one birth, the son and daughters of Samuel and Mary Lines, of +this parish, who departed this life 30th of April, 1847, aged 3 +days.</p> +<blockquote><p>Weep not for me my mother dear,<br /> +Rather be you glad;<br /> +In this world our time was short,—<br /> +The longer rest we have.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>STANFORD.</h4> + +<blockquote><p> Here +lies<br /> + the body of Richard +Clarke,<br /> + who died ----<br +/> + + +Aged -- years,<br /> +Who lies here? Who do you think?<br /> +Poor old Clarke—give him some drink.<br /> +What! dead men drink? The reason why,—<br /> +When he was alive he was always dry.<br /> + And four of his +children.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>LITTLE ILFORD.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">In Memory of<br /> +Smart Leithceulier, Esq.</p> +<p>A Gentleman of polite literature and elegant taste; an +encourager of art and ingenious artists; a studious promoter of +literary inquiries; a companion and friend <!-- page 36--><a +name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>of learned +men; industriously versed in the science of antiquity; and richly +possessed of the curious productions of Nature: but who modestly +desired no other inscription on his tomb than what he had made +the rule of his life:—</p> +<blockquote><p> “To do justly—to +love mercy—<br /> + And to walk humbly with his God.”<br /> +Born, November 3, 1701. Died without issue.<br /> + + +August 27, 1760.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>GREAT COGGESHALL.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">To the Memory of<br /> +Thomas Hanse.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Lord, thy grace is free,—why not for +me?”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This man dying greatly in debt, and being a bankrupt, one of +his creditors, being ruined by him, wrote under it:—</p> +<blockquote><p>And the Lord answered and said,—<br /> +“Because thy debts a’nt paid!”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ROXWELL.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">J. F. Hefeall.</p> +<blockquote><p>With long affliction I was sore oppressed,<br /> +Till God in goodness kindly gave me rest;<br /> +I left my widow’d wife and children dear<br /> +To His all gracious, providential care,<br /> +Who said do thou alone depend—<br /> +Who am the widow and the orphan’s friend.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>STONDON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>“Who lists to se and knowe himselfe,<br /> +May loke upon this glase,<br /> +And vew the beaten pathe of dethe,<br /> +Which he shall one day passe;<br /> +<!-- page 37--><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +37</span>Which way J. Rainford Kellingworth,<br /> +With patient mind, have gone,—<br /> +Whose body here, as death hath changed,<br /> +Lies covered with this stone;<br /> +When dust to dust is brought again,<br /> +The earth she hath her owne,—<br /> +This shall the lot of all men be,<br /> +Before the trumpe be blowne!”<br /> + + +April 17th, 1575.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>WALTHAM ABBEY.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">To Sir Edward Denny.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Learn, curious reader, ere thou pass,<br /> +That once Sir Edward Denny was<br /> +A courtier of the chamber,<br /> +A soldier of the fielde,—<br /> +Whose tongue could never flatter,<br /> +Whose heart could never yield!”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>On a decayed monument in Horndon Church is the following +inscription:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Take, gentle marble, to thy trust,<br /> +And keep unmixed this <i>sacred dust</i>—<br /> +Grow moist sometimes that I may see<br /> +Thou weep’st in sympathy with me;<br /> +And when, by him I here shall sleep,<br /> +My ashes also safely keep—<br /> +And from rude hands preserve us both, until<br /> +We rise to Sion’s Mount from +Horndon-on-the-Hill.”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Paul Whitehead, Esq.<br /> +Of Twickenham, December, 1774.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Unhallow’d hands, this urn +forbear,<br /> + No gems, nor Orient spoil,<br /> +Lie here conceal’d, but what’s more rare,—<br +/> +A <i>heart</i> that knows no guile!”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 38--><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +38</span>STANFORD.</h4> +<p>On a brass plate in this church is the following +inscription:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Before this tabernaculle lyeth buryed +Thomas Greene, some tyme bayle of this towne, Margaret, and +Margaret, his wyves—which Thomas dyed the 8th day of July, +1535. The which Thomas hath wylled a prest to syng in this +church for the space of 20 years, for hym, his wyves, his +children, and all men’s soules. And, moreover, he +hath wylled an obyte, to be kept the 8th day of July, for the +term of twenty years, for the soules aforesaid, and, at every +tyme of the said obyte, bestowed 20s. of good lawful money of +England.”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>On the south wall are the following lines, ih memory of Anne, +wife of William Napper, who died in 1584:—</p> +<blockquote><p>In token of whose vertuous lyfe,<br /> +And constant sacred love,<br /> +And that her memory should remaine,<br /> +And never hence remove,<br /> +Her husband, in his tyme of lyfe,<br /> +This monument did leave his wyfe.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>CHIGWELL.</h4> +<blockquote><p>This disease you ne’er heard tell +on,—<br /> +I died of eating too much mellon;<br /> +Be careful, then, all you that feed—I<br /> +Suffered because I was too greedy.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>LEIGH.</h4> +<p>Here lies the body of Mary Ellis, daughter of Thomas Ellis, +and Lydia, his wife, of this parish. She was a virgin of +virtuous character, and most promising hopes. She died on +the 3rd of June, 1609, aged <i>one hundred and nineteen</i>.</p> +<h3><!-- page 39--><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +39</span>Gloucestershire.</h3> +<h4>MINCHIN HAMPTON.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On Anne, daughter of Joseph +Baynham,<br /> +Died 16th Aug. 1632.</p> +<blockquote><p>Shee had not spunn out Thirtie dayes,<br /> +but God from paine took her to joyes;<br /> +Let none their trust in worldly Bliss,<br /> +All youth and age must come to This,<br /> +but Manner how, place where, time when,<br /> +Is known to God, but not to men;<br /> +Watch, Pray, Repent, and sinne forsake,<br /> +Lest, unprepared, Death thee should take,—<br /> +Then happy Thou that so shall dye,<br /> +To Live with God Eternalye.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>RENDCOMBE.</h4> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">In Memory of Robert +Berkeley, Esq. who died<br /> +Feb <sup>ye</sup> 2nd, 1690, aged 76 yeares.<br /> +And Rebecca, his wife, who died August <sup>ye</sup> 16th, +1707,<br /> +Aged 83. This monument was erected<br /> +by their most Dutiful and most obsequious<br /> +Daughter, Rebecca Berkeley.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>PAINSWICK.</h4> +<blockquote><p>My time was come! My days were spent!<br /> +I was called—and away I went! ! !</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BRISTOL.</h4> +<p>On Tho<sup>s</sup>. Turar and Mary, his wife. He was +Master of the Company of Bakers.</p> +<blockquote><p>Like to the baker’s <i>oven</i> is the +grave,<br /> +Wherein the bodyes of the faithful have<br /> +<!-- page 40--><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +40</span>A setting in, and where they do remain,<br /> +In hopes to rise and to be <i>drawn</i> again;<br /> +Blessed are they who in the Lord are dead,<br /> +Tho’ set like <i>dough</i> they shall be drawn like +<i>bread</i>!</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p> Ye witty mortals! as +you’re passing by,<br /> + Remark that near this monument doth lie,<br /> + + +Centered in dust,<br /> + + +Described thus:<br /> + Two Husbands, +two Wives,<br /> + Two Sisters, two +Brothers,<br /> + Two Fathers, a +Son,<br /> + Two Daughters, +two Mothers,<br /> +A Grandfather, a Grandmother, a Granddaughter,<br /> +An Uncle, and an Aunt—their Niece follow’d after!<br +/> + This catalogue of persons mentioned here<br /> + Was only five, and all from incest free!</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>I went and ’listed in the Tenth Hussars,<br +/> +And gallopped with them to the bloody wars;<br /> +“Die for your sovereign—for your country +die!”<br /> +To earn such glory feeling rather shy,<br /> +Snug I slipped home. But death soon sent me off,<br /> +After a struggle with the hooping cough!</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lies poor Charlotte,<br /> +Who died no harlot;<br /> + But in her virginity,<br /> +Of the age nineteen,<br /> + In this vicinity,<br /> +Rare to be found or seen.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BERKELEY.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the Earl of Suffolk’s fool,<br /> +Men call’d him Dicky Pearce,<br /> +His folly serv’d to make folks laugh,<br /> +When wit and mirth were scarce.<br /> +<!-- page 41--><a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +41</span>Poor Dick, alas! is dead and gone!<br /> +What signifies to cry?<br /> +Dickeys enough are still behind,<br /> +To laugh at by and by.<br /> + + +Buried 1728.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>CIRENCESTER.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Our bodies are like shoes, which off we +cast,—<br /> +Physic their coblers, and Death their last.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p> Mercye, God of my misdede;<br /> + Ladye, help at my most neede;<br /> + On a brass plate under theyre feete,<br /> + Reye gracious I ha to Endles lyfe at thy grete<br /> +dome, where alle Schalle apere, Hughe Norys Groe, and<br /> +Johan, hys wyf, now dede in Grave and Buryed here;<br /> +Yo P’yers desyringe therre soules for chere, the <span +class="smcap">x</span><br /> +day of July, the yere of oure Lorde God, <span +class="smcap">mdcccccxxix</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This epitaph appears on a flat stone, with the effigies of a +man and woman.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Two Infants.</p> +<blockquote><p>Two lovelier babes ye nare did se<br /> +Than God A’mighty gaed to we,<br /> +Bus the was o’ertaken we agur (ague) fits,<br /> +And hare tha lies as dead as nits!</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>NORTH CERNEY.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lieth, ready to start, in full hopes to save +his distance,<br /> +Timothy Turf, formerly Stud Groom to Sir Mamaduke Match’em, +and<br /> +Late Keeper of the Racing Stables on Cerney Downs:—<br /> + + +<!-- page 42--><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +42</span>But<br /> +Was beat out of the world on the 1st of April last, by<br /> + that +inivincible<br /> + + +<span class="smcap">Rockingham Death</span>.<br /> +N.B.—He lived and died an honest man.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>CHELTENHAM.</h4> +<blockquote><p>“Here lies I and my three daughters,<br /> +Killed by a drinking the Cheltenham waters;<br /> +If we had stuck to Epsom salts,<br /> +We’d not been a lying in these here vaults.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>MINCHIN HAMPTON.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">To the Memory of Jeremiah Buck, +Esq. died 1653.</p> +<blockquote><p>J Intomb’d here lies a pillar of the +State,—<br /> +E Each good man’s friend, to th’ Poor +compassionate,<br /> +R Religion’s patron, just men’s sure +defence,<br /> +E Evil men’s terror, guard of innocence;<br /> +M Matchless for virtues which still shine most bright,<br +/> +I Impartially to all he gave their right;<br /> +A Alas! that few to heart do truly lay,<br /> +H How righteous men from earth depart away.</p> +<p>B By’s death we loose, but he much gain +acquires,<br /> +V Vnto his body rest: His soul aspires<br /> +C Celestial mansions where he, God on high,<br /> +K Knows and enjoys to all eternity.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>TEWKESBURY.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On Eleanor Freeman, æt. +21.</p> +<blockquote><p>A Virgin blossom, in her May<br /> +Of youth and virtues, turned to clay,—<br /> +Rich earth, accomplish’d with those graces,<br /> +That adorn saints in heavenly places;<br /> +Let not death boast his conquering power,<br /> +She’ll rise a star that fell a flower.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 43--><a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +43</span>THORNBURY.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Thomas Tyndale dyed the 28th of +April, buried 31 May, 1571.</p> +<blockquote><p>Ye see how death doth Spare no age nor Kynd,<br /> +How I am lapt in Claye and dead you fynde,<br /> +My Wife and Children lye here with me,<br /> +No Gould, no friend, no strength, could ransome bee,<br /> +The end of Vayne delighte and Ill Intente,<br /> +The End of Care and Matter to repent,<br /> +The End of faere for frynd and Worldly Wo,<br /> +By Death we have; and of lyke thousand mo,<br /> +And Death of Tymes in us hath made an End,<br /> +So that nothing can ower Estate amend.<br /> +Who would not be Content such Change to make<br /> +For worldly things Eternal Life to take.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>RODMARTON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>On a brass plate, let into the stone, is the +following:—<br /> +Johns Yate Lond. ex Vico Basing Lane Naroec Aldermar.<br /> +Renatus 28 Iulii 1594. Coll. Em Cantab Olim Soc.<br /> + S. Th. B.<br /> +Inductus in hanc Eccl. vespijs Dominicæ in Albis 1628<br /> +Mortalitatem exvit die 10 Jan Anno Doni 1668.<br /> +Nodvs Iob rediens vt venerat ecce recessit<br /> +Rodmerton, quondam qui tibi pastor erat.<br /> +Is, qvia, qvae solitvs neqvit ex ambone monere<br /> +Clamat et e tumvlo prædicat ista svo.<br /> +Mors tva, mors Christi, fravs mondi, gloria cœli<br /> +Et dolor inferni, svnt meditata tibi.<br /> + Trvst not the world remember deth,<br /> + And often think of Hell:<br /> + Think often on the great reward<br /> + For those that do live well.<br /> + Repent, amend, then trvst in Christ,<br /> + So thov in peace shalt +dy;—<br /> + And rest in bliss, and rise with Ioy<br /> + And raine eternally.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p><!-- page 44--><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +44</span>Engraved on the Coffin of Mr. Pitcher, a noted Ale-house +keeper in Gloucestershire.</p> +<blockquote><p>Stop mourning friends and shed a grateful tear<br +/> +Upon thy once loved Pitcher’s moving bier,<br /> +He quits this world without regret or railing,<br /> +Life’s full of pain—he always has been aleing.<br /> +Resigned he fell contented with his lot,<br /> +Convinced all Pitchers soon must go to Pot.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BEVERSTONE.</h4> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">In memory of Katherine +Purye, who died Dec. 1, 1604.<br /> +A<sup>o</sup> 1604.<br /> +Dece 1. Ætat. 67.<br /> +Quæ defuncta jacet saxo tumulata sub illo<br /> +Bis Cathara, haud ficto nomine, dicta fuit.<br /> +Nomen utrumque sonat mundam, puramque piamq<br /> +Et vere nomen quod referebat, erat,<br /> +Nam puram puro degebat pectore vitam,<br /> +Pura fuit mundo, nunc mage pura Deo.—<br /> +Πάντα +καζαρα +τοις +καζαραις<br /> +Omnia pura puris,<br /> +Tit. 1. ver. 15.</p> +<p>She whom this stone doth quietly immure<br /> +In no feign’d way had twice the name of <i>Pure</i>:<br /> +Pure, pious, clean, each name did signify,<br /> +And truly was she what those names imply;<br /> +For in pure paths, while yet she lived, she trod;<br /> +Pure was she in this world, and now more pure with God.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>TETBURY.</h4> +<blockquote><p>In a vault underneath lie interred several of the +Saunderses, late of this parish, particulars the last day will +disclose.—Amen.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 45--><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +45</span>ALMONDBURY.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies alas! long to be lamented, Benjamin +Dobbins, Gent., who left his Friends sorrowing. Feb. 2, +1760. Aged 42.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Hampshire.</h3> +<h4>WINCHESTER.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here sleeps in peace a Hampshire grenadier,<br /> +Who caught his death by drinking cold small beer;<br /> +Soldiers beware, from his untimely fall,<br /> +And, when your’e hot, drink strong, or none at all.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>“Severely afflicted—, yet, when most +depressed,<br /> +Resigned, he endured it as all for the best,<br /> +Praised God for his goodness, both present and past;<br /> +He yielded his spirit in peace at the last.</p> +<p>“Let friend forbear to mourn and weep,<br /> +While in the dust I sweetly sleep;<br /> +This frailsome world I left behind,<br /> +A crown of glory for to find.</p> +<p>“While in this world I did remain,<br /> +My latter days was grief and pain;<br /> +But, when the Lord He thought it best,<br /> +He took me into a place of rest.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>FRESHWATER.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Joseph Robins, Jan<sup>y</sup>. 21, +1811.</p> +<blockquote><p>The blustering Winds and raging sea<br /> +Have tossed me to and fro<br /> +Tho’ some have found their watery Grave,<br /> +I am Anchored here below;<br /> +<!-- page 46--><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +46</span>Thus, at an Anchor safe I lie,<br /> +With the surrounding Fleet,<br /> +And hope one day we shall set sail,<br /> +Our Saviour Christ to meet;<br /> +My change I hope is for the best,—<br /> +To live with Christ and be at rest.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>MONKS SHERBORN.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">William Cullum, d. 1841, aged +20.</p> +<blockquote><p>Weep not for me, my tender parents dear,<br /> +Taken from your care in early years;<br /> +Oh! grieve not, the LORD’S will be done,—<br /> +Your dutiful and affectionate son.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BINSTED.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On Hannah, wife of Jeremiah Soffe, +died 1832.</p> +<blockquote><p>When I am dead and in my Grave,<br /> +And all my Bones are Rotten.<br /> +This when you see, Remember me,<br /> +Or lest I should be forgotten.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>WHIPPINGHAM, ISLE OF WIGHT.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Thomas Burnett.<br /> +1842.</p> +<blockquote><p>At midnight he was called away<br /> +From his employment on the sea,—<br /> +Altho’ his warning was but short,<br /> +We hope he’s reached the heavenly port.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ALRESFORD.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On an Exciseman.</p> +<blockquote><p>No Supervisor’s check he fears,<br /> + Now, no commissioner obeys;<br /> +He’s free from cares, entreaties, tears,<br /> + And all the heavenly orb surveys.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 47--><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +47</span>ST. LAWRENCE, ISLE OF WIGHT.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">To the Memory of Robert Dyer, who +was drowned,<br /> +Aged 19.</p> +<blockquote><p>Ah! cruel death that would not spare<br /> +A loving husband was so dear;<br /> +This world he left, and me behind,<br /> +The world to try, and friends to find.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Christ our Saviour is above,<br /> +And him we hope to see—<br /> +And all our friends that are behind<br /> +Will soon come after we.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>WINCHESTER CATHEDRAL CHURCHYARD.</h4> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">This Stone<br /> +was erected by the<br /> +Brethren<br /> +of Lodge <span class="smcap">cxi.</span> of<br /> +Free and accepted<br /> +Masons,<br /> +As a token of respect<br /> +for their departed<br /> +Brother,<br /> +Jonathan Triggs,<br /> +who received a<br /> +Summons<br /> +From the Great Architect<br /> +Of the Universe,<br /> +At the hour of High Twelve,<br /> +on the 24 day of October.<br /> +A.L. 5819.<br /> +A.D. 1819.<br /> +Aged 38 years.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 48--><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +48</span>CARISBROOKE.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Loving Couple.</p> +<blockquote><p>Of life he had the better slice,<br /> +They lived at once, and died at twice,</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Herefordshire.</h3> +<h4>HEREFORD.</h4> +<blockquote><p>A virtuous woman is 5<i>s.</i> 0<i>d.</i> <a +name="citation48"></a><a href="#footnote48" +class="citation">[48]</a> to her husband.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here a lovely youth doth lie,<br /> +Which by accident did die;<br /> +His precious breath was forced to yield,<br /> +For by a waggon he was killed!</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Alas! no more I could survive,<br /> +For I is dead and not alive;<br /> +And thou and time no longer shalt survive,<br /> +But be as dead as any man alive.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Hertfordshire.</h3> +<h4>AMWELL.</h4> +<blockquote><p>That which a Being was—what is it? +Show<br /> +That Being which it was, it is not now;<br /> +To be what ’tis, is not to be, you see,—<br /> +That which now is not, shall a Being be.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 49--><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +49</span>ST. ALBANS.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Hic jacet Tom Shorthose,—<br /> +Sine tomba, sine sheet, sine riches;<br /> +Quid vixit,—sine gowne,<br /> +Sine cloake, sine shirt, sine breeches.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>The Dame, who lies interred within this tomb,<br +/> +Had Rachel’s charms, and Leah’s fruitful womb,<br /> +Ruth’s filial love, and Lydia’s faithful heart,<br /> +Martha’s just care, and Mary’s better part.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>A comparison of the virtues of the deceased and those of +Scripture characters is found on a monument of Sir Charles +Cæsar at Bennington, Herts:—</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p>Nathaniel</p> +</td> +<td><p>Daniel</p> +</td> +<td><p>Jonathan</p> +</td> +<td><p>Uzzita</p> +</td> +<td><p>Josephus</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Simplicitate</p> +</td> +<td><p>Toro</p> +</td> +<td><p>Pectore</p> +</td> +<td><p>Prole</p> +</td> +<td><p>Thoro</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Beneath this stone, where now your eye you fix,<br +/> +Ann Harris lies, who died in sixty-six;<br /> +John Harris after her his exit made<br /> +In eighty-two, and now is with her laid.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>“Sacred to the memory of Miss Martha +Gwynn,<br /> +Who was so very pure within,<br /> +She burst the outer shell of sin,<br /> +And hatched <span class="smcap">herself a +cherubim</span>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>HODDESDON.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Captain Henry Graves, died 17th +Aug. 1702,<br /> +Aged 52 years.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here, in one Grave, more than one Grave +lies—<br /> +Envious Death at last hath gained his prize;<br /> +No pills or potions could make Death tarry,<br /> +Resolved he was to fetch away Old Harry.<br /> +Ye foolish doctors, could you all miscarry?<br /> +Great were his actions on the boisterous waves,<br /> +Resistless seas could never conquer Graves.<br /> +<!-- page 50--><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>Ah! Colchester, lament his overthow,<br /> +Unhappily, you lost him at a blow;<br /> +Each marine hero for him shed a tear,<br /> +St. Margaret’s, too, in this must have a share.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>HERTFORD.</h4> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">woman</span>.</p> +<p>“Grieve not for me, my husband dear,<br /> +I am not dead, but sleepeth here;<br /> +With patience wait, prepare to die,<br /> +And in a short time you’ll come to I.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">man</span>.</p> +<p>“I am not grieved, my dearest life;<br /> +Sleep on,—I have got another wife;<br /> +Therefore, I cannot come to thee,<br /> +For I must go and live with she.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ALDENHAM.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">John Robinson.</p> +<blockquote><p>Death parts the dearest Lovers for awhile,<br /> +And makes them mourn, who only used to smile,<br /> +But after Death our unmixt loves shall tie<br /> +Eternal knots betwixt my dear and I.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Huntingdonshire.</h3> +<h4>BLUNTISHAM.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Wrestler.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lyes the Conqueror conquered,<br /> +Valient as ever England bred;<br /> +Whom neither art, nor steel, nor strength,<br /> +Could e’er subdue, till death at length<br /> +Threw him on his back, and here he lyes,<br /> +In hopes hereafter to arise.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 51--><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +51</span>Kent.</h3> +<h4>CRAYFORD.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lieth the body of Peter Isnel (30 years clerk +of this parish.)</p> +<p>He lived respected as a pious and mirthful man, and died on +his way to church, to assist at a wedding, on the 31st day of +March, 1811, aged 70 years. The inhabitants of Crayford +have raised this stone to his cheerful memory, and as a tribute +to his long and faithful service.</p> +<p>The life of this clerk was just three score and ten,<br /> +Nearly half of which time he had sung out <i>Amen</i>!<br /> +In his youth he was married, like other young men,<br /> +But his wife died one day, so he chanted <i>Amen</i>!<br /> +A second he took—she departed—what then?<br /> +He married and buried a third with <i>Amen</i>;<br /> +Thus, his joys and his sorrows were treble, but then<br /> +His voice was deep bass as he sung out <i>Amen</i>!<br /> +On the horn he could blow as well as most men,<br /> +So his horn was exalted in blowing <i>Amen</i>;<br /> +But he lost all his wind after three score and ten,<br /> +And now, with three wives, he waits, till again<br /> +The trumpet shall rouse him to sing out <i>Amen</i>!</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>SNODLAND.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Palmers al our faders were,—<br /> +I, a Palmer, lived here,<br /> +And travylled till, worne with age,<br /> +I endyd this world’s pylgrymage<br /> +On the blyst Assention-day,<br /> +In the cheerful month of May,<br /> +A thousand with foure hundryd seven,<br /> +And took my jorney hense to Heven!</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 52--><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +52</span>SANDWICH.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">To Thomas, son of Thomas Danson, +late a Preacher<br /> +in this town. Born Oct. 23, 1668; died Oct. 23, 1674.</p> +<blockquote><p>Upon October’s three and twentieth day<br /> +The world began, (as learned Annals say,)<br /> +That was this child’s birthday, on which he died,<br /> +The world’s end may in his be typified:<br /> +Oh! happy little world, whose work is done<br /> +Before the greater, and his rest begun.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>WOOLWICH.</h4> +<p>Several years since, an inhabitant of Woolwich died, leaving a +testamentary order that his tombstone should be inscribed with +the well-known lines:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Youthful reader, passing by,<br /> +As you are now, so once was I,<br /> +As I am now, so you must be,<br /> +Therefore prepare to follow me.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The widow of the deceased, who did not honour her lord more +than the ordinary run of wives, obeyed her late husband’s +injunctions, but added a postscript of her own +composition—</p> +<blockquote><p>To follow you I am not content,<br /> +Until I know which way you went.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>FRINDSBURY.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On Mrs. Lee and her son Tom.</p> +<blockquote><p>In her life she did her best,<br /> +Now, I hope her soul’s at rest;<br /> +Also her son Tom lies at her feet,<br /> +He liv’d till he made both ends meet.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>FOLKESTONE.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Sixteen years a Maiden,<br /> +One twelve Months a Wife,<br /> +One half hour a Mother,<br /> +And then I lost my Life.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 53--><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +53</span>ROCHESTER.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Though young she was,<br /> +Her youth could not withstand,<br /> +Nor her protect from Death’s<br /> +Impartial hand.<br /> +Like a cobweb, be we e’er so gay,<br /> +And death a broom,<br /> +That sweeps us all away.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>MAIDSTONE.</h4> +<blockquote><p>“Stop ringers all and cast an eye,<br /> +You in your glory, so once was I,<br /> +What I have been, as you may see,<br /> +Which now is in the belfree.”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>“God takes the good too good on earth to +stay,<br /> +And leaves the bad too bad to take away.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The person was very aged on whose tomb-stone the above was +written!</p> +<h4>LEE.</h4> +<p>In the village churchyard, near the Castle, is a rather +singular inscription upon a gravestone, which was put up by the +deceased during his life-time; and when first placed there, had +blanks, for inserting his age and the time of his death. +These blanks have long since been filled up, and the whole now +reads as follows:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“In memory of James Barham, of this parish, +who departed this life Jan. 14, 1818, aged 93 years; and who from +the year 1774, to the year 1804, rung, in Kent and elsewhere, 112 +peals, not less than 5,040 changes in each peal, & called +bobs, &c. for most of the peals; & April 7th & 8th, +1761, assisted in ringing 40,320 bob-majors on Leeds-bells, in 27 +hours.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 54--><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +54</span>BOBBING.</h4> +<blockquote><p>God gave me at Kinardington in Kent,<br /> +My native breath, which now alas is spent,<br /> +My parents gave me Tylden Smith for name,<br /> +I to the Park farm in this Parish came;<br /> +And there for many ling’ring years did dwell,<br /> +Whilst my good neighbours did respect me well.<br /> +But now my friends, I go by Nature’s call,<br /> +In humble hopes my crimes will measure small.<br /> +Years following years steal something every day,<br /> +And lastly steal us from ourselves away.<br /> +Life’s span forbids us to extend our cares,<br /> +And stretch our hopes beyond our fleeting years.<br /> +Mary Farminger, my wife, from East Marsh place,<br /> +Lies mouldering here like me, in hopes of grace.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>The following Epitaph is to be found in the parish church of +Ightham, erected to Mrs. Selby of the Mote House, Ightham, who +was a beautiful worker of Tapestry, whose death is said to have +been caused from her pricking her finger when working one +Sunday. There is a marble figure of her, holding a steel +needle in her hand, and underneath is the following +inscription:—</p> + +<blockquote><p> She +was a Dorcas,<br /> +Whose Curious needle turned the abused stage<br /> +Of this lov’d world, into the goldenage,<br /> +Whose pen of steele, and silken inck unroll’d<br /> +The acts of Jonah in records of gold,<br /> +Whose art disclosed that Plot, which had it taken,<br /> +Rome had tryumphed, and Britains wall had shaken.<br /> + + +She Was<br /> +In heart a Lydia, and in tongue a Hanna,<br /> +In zeale a Ruth, in wedlock a Susanna,<br /> +Prudently simple, providently wary,<br /> +To the world a Martha, and to Heaven a Mary.<br /> + + +Died 1641</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 55--><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +55</span>STAPLEHURST.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lyeth the Body of Mary the daughter of +W<sup>m</sup> Maiss & Mary his Wife, who died Sept. 9, 1703, +aged 22 years.</p> +<p>Here lyes a piece of Heaven, t’others above,<br /> +Which shortly goes up to the World of Love,<br /> +The Brightest Sweetest Angels must convey<br /> +This spotless Virgin on the starry way;<br /> +That glittering <i>quire</i> sings but a lisping song,<br /> +Till she appears amidst the shining throng.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>SANDWICH.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Robert Needler.</p> +<blockquote><p>My resting road is found<br /> +Vain hope and hap adieu,<br /> +Love whom you list<br /> +Death hath me rid from you.<br /> +The Lord did me from <i>London</i> bring,<br /> +To lay my body close herein.<br /> +I was my father’s only heir,<br /> +And the first my mother bare.<br /> +But before one year was spent<br /> +The Lord his messenger for me sent.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>FOLKESTONE.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Rebecca Rogers.</p> +<blockquote><p>A house she hath it’s made of such good +fashion,<br /> +The tenant ne’er shall pay for reparation;<br /> +Nor will her landlord ever raise her Rent,<br /> +Or turn her out of doors for non-payment;<br /> +From chimney money too this Cell is free,<br /> +To such a house who would not tenant be.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 56--><a +name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>Henry Jeffry, +leaving 8 children.</p> +<blockquote><p>A faithful friend, a father dear,<br /> +A loving husband lieth here;<br /> +My time is past, my glass is run,<br /> +My children dear, prepare to come.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ELTHAM.</h4> +<blockquote><p>My wife lies here beneath<br /> +Alas! from me she’s flown,<br /> +She was so good, that Death<br /> +Would have her for his own.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Lancashire.</h3> +<h4>LIVERPOOL.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On John Scott, a Brewer.</p> +<blockquote><p>Poor John Scott lies buried here,<br /> +Tho’ one he was both <i>stout</i> and <i>hale</i>,<br /> +Death stretched him on this <i>bitter bier</i>,<br /> +In another world he <i>hops</i> about.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>MANCHESTER.</h4> +<blockquote><p>My death did come to pass,<br /> +Thro’ sitting on the derty grass;<br /> +Here I lie where I fell,<br /> +If you seek my soul go to Hell.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a profligate Mathematician.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies John Hill,<br /> +A man of skill,<br /> +<!-- page 57--><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +57</span>His age was five times ten:<br /> +He ne’er did good,<br /> +Nor ever would,<br /> +Had he lived as long again.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>SOUTHWORTH.</h4> +<blockquote><p>The world is full of crooked streets,<br /> +Death is a place where all men meets,<br /> +If life were sold, that men might buy,<br /> +The rich would live, the poor must die.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>OLDHAM.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On Paul Fuller and Peter Potter, +buried near each<br /> +other.</p> +<blockquote><p>’Tis held by Peter and by Paul,<br /> +That when we fill our graves or urns,<br /> +Ashes to ashes crumbling fall,<br /> +And dust to dust once more returns.<br /> +So here a truth unmeant for mirth,<br /> +Appears in monumental lay;<br /> +Paul’s grave is filled with Fuller’s earth,<br /> +And Peter’s crammed with Potter’s clay.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ROCHDALE.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Tim’s Bobbin’s +Grave.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Here lies John and with him Mary,<br /> +Cheek by jowl and nevery vary;<br /> +No wonder they so well agree,<br /> +Tim wants no punch, and Moll no tea.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 58--><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +58</span>Leicestershire.</h4> +<p>In Nichols’s history of Leicestershire, is inserted the +following Epitaph, to the memory of Theophilus Cave, who was +buried in the chancel of the Church of Barrow-on-Soar:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Here in this Grave there lies a Cave,<br /> +We call a Cave a Grave;<br /> +If Cave be Grave, and Grave be Cave,<br /> +Then reader, judge, I crave,<br /> +Whether doth Cave here lie in Grave,<br /> +Or Grave here lie in Cave:<br /> +If Grave in Cave here buried lie,<br /> +Then Grave where is thy victory?<br /> +Go, reader, and report here lies a Cave,<br /> +Who conquers death, and buyes his own Cave.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>MELTON MOWBRAY.</h4> +<blockquote><p>The world’s an Inn, and I her guest:<br /> +I’ve eat and drank and took my rest,<br /> +With her awhile, and now I pay<br /> +Her lavish bill and go my way.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BARKBY.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Francis Fox, vicar, died 1662.</p> +<blockquote><p>My debt to Death is paid unto a sand,<br /> +And pay thou must, that there doth reading stand;<br /> +And am laid down to sleep, till Christ from high<br /> +Shall raise me, although grim Death stand by.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 59--><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +59</span>HARBY.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Mary Hill, died 1784.</p> +<blockquote><p>With pain and sickness wasted to a bone,<br /> +Long time to gracious Heaven I made my moan;<br /> +Then God at length to my complaint gave ear,<br /> +And sent kind Death to ease my pain and care.<br /> +Physicians could no longer save the life<br /> +Of a tender mother and a loving wife.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Lincolnshire.</h3> +<p>The following quaint memorials of the unhonoured dead, are by +the minister of the small and retired village of Waddingham. They +have, at all events, the charm of originality, and were long ago +inscribed in that quiet nook, where “many a holy text +around is strewn, teaching the rustic moralist to die.”</p> +<blockquote><p>In love we liv’d, in peace did part,<br /> +All tho it cot us to the heart.<br /> +O dear—what thoughts whe two had<br /> +To get for our 12 Children Bread;<br /> +Lord! send her health them to maintain:—<br /> +I hope to meet my love again.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>O angry death yt would not be deny’d,<br /> +But break ye bonds of love so firmly ty’d!<br /> +She was a loving wife, a tender nurse,<br /> +And a faithful friend in every case.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>SLEAFORD.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On Henry Fox, a weaver.</p> +<blockquote><p>Of tender threads this mortal web is made,<br /> +The woof and warf, and colours early fade;<br /> +When pow’r divine awakes the sleeping dust,<br /> +He gives immortal garments to the just.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p><!-- page 60--><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +60</span>On the south side of the Sleaford Church, sculptured in +the cornice of the water-table, is the following +inscription:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lyeth William Harebeter, and Elizabeth, his +wife.<br /> +Cryest ihu graunte yem everlastyng lyfe.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is noticed in Gough’s great work on Sepulchral +Monuments, where, speaking of inscriptions cut on the ledges of +stones, or raising them in high relief, he says, “Of this +kind on public buildings, I know not a finer sample than in the +water-table, on the south side of Sleaford Church.”</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On William Gibson.</p> +<blockquote><p>Who lies here?—Who do you think?<br /> +’Tis poor <span class="smcap">Will +Gibson</span>,—give him some drink;<br /> +Give him some drink, I’ll tell you why,<br /> +When he was living, he always was dry.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>WAINFLEET.</h4> +<p>Peck has given from the Palmer MS. the following Epitaph, than +which nothing can be more pompous or ridiculous:—</p> +<p style="text-align: center">On a monument erected in 1735.</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">Near this place,<br /> +lye the remains<br /> +of Edward Barkham, Esq.<br /> +Who in his life time at his own expense<br /> +Erected the stately altar piece in this church;<br /> +Furnished the communion table<br /> +With a very rich crimson velvet carpet,<br /> +a cushion of the same, and a beautiful Common Prayer<br /> +book;<br /> +Likewise with two large flagons,<br /> +a chalice with a cover, together with a paten,<br /> +All of silver plate.<br /> +<!-- page 61--><a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +61</span>But above all (& what may very justly<br /> +preserve his name to latest posterity)<br /> +he gave and devised by will<br /> +To the curate of Wainfleet St. Mary’s and his successor<br +/> +for ever<br /> +The sum of 35£. per ann. (over and above his former<br /> +salary)<br /> +with this clause, viz.<br /> +‘provided the said curate and his successors<br /> +do and shall read prayers and preach<br /> +once every Sunday in the year for ever.’<br /> +So extraordinary an instance of securing a veneration<br /> +for the most awful part of our religion,<br /> +And so rare and uncommon a zeal<br /> +For promoting God’s worship every Lord’s Day.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>RAUCEBY.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Near this place are interred the wives of Richard +Jessap; viz.—Alice, on Sept. 27, 1716, aged 25, and Joanna, +on Aug. 31, 1720, aged 29.</p> +<p>How soon ye objects of my love<br /> +By death were snatcht from me;<br /> +Two loving matrons they did prove,<br /> +No better could there be.<br /> +One child the first left to my care,<br /> +The other left me three.<br /> +Joanna was beyond compare,<br /> +A phœnix rare was she;<br /> +Heaven thought her sure too good to stay<br /> +A longer time on earth,<br /> +In childbed therefore as she lay,<br /> +To God resign’d her breath.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 62--><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +62</span>LINCOLN.</h4> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">Here lyeth the body +of<br /> +Michael Honeywood, D.D.<br /> +Who was grandchild, and one of the<br /> +Three hundred and sixty-seven persons,<br /> +That Mary the wife of Robert Honeywood, Esq.<br /> +Did see before she died,<br /> +Lawfully descended from her,<br /> +viz.<br /> +Sixteen of her own body, 114 grand children,<br /> +288 of the third generation, and 9 of the fourth.<br /> +Mrs. Honeywood<br /> +Died in the year 1605,<br /> +And in the 78<sup>th</sup> year of her age.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>GRANTHAM.</h4> +<blockquote><p>John Palfreyman, who is buried here,<br /> +Was aged four & twenty year;<br /> +And near this place his mother lies;<br /> +Likewise his father, when he dies.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ISELTON CUM FENBY.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here Lies the body of Old Will Loveland,<br /> +He’s put to bed with a shovel, and<br /> +Eased of expenses for raiment and food,<br /> +Which all his life-time he would fain have eschewed.<br /> +He grudged his housekeeping his children’s support,<br /> +And laid in his meat of the cagge-mag sort.<br /> +No fyshe or fowle touched he when t’was dearly Bought,<br +/> +But a Green taile or herrings a score for a groate.<br /> + + +No friend to the needy<br /> + + +His wealth gather’d speedy,<br /> + And he never did naught but evil,<br /> + + +He liv’d like a hogg,<br /> + + +He died like a dogg,<br /> + And now he rides post to the devil.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 63--><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>STAMFORD.</h4> +<blockquote><p>In remembrance of that prodigy of nature, Daniel +Lambert, a native of Leicester, who was possessed of an excellent +and convivial mind, and in personal greatness he had no +competitor. He measured three feet one inch round the leg; nine +feet four inches round the body, and weighed 52 stone 11 lb. (14 +lb. to the stone.) He departed this life on the 21st of June +1809, aged 39 years. As a testimony of respect, this Stone +is erected by his friends in Leicester.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Middlesex.</h3> +<h4>STEPNEY.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On Mary Angel.</p> +<blockquote><p>To say an angel here interr’d doth lye,<br +/> +May be thought strange, for angels never dye;<br /> + Indeed some fell from heav’n to hell;<br /> + Are lost and rise no more;<br /> + This only fell from death to earth,<br /> + Not lost, but gone before;<br /> +Her dust lodg’d here, her soul perfect in grace,<br /> +Among saints and angels now hath took its place.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Daniel Saul.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the body of Daniel Saul,<br /> +Spitalfield’s weaver—and that’s all.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">William Wheatly.</p> +<blockquote><p>Whoever treadeth on this stone,<br /> + I pray you tread most neatly;<br /> +For underneath the same doth lie<br /> + Your honest friend, Will Wheatly.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 64--><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +64</span>WESTMINSTER ABBEY.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">(In the Abbey.)</p> +<blockquote><p>Beneath this stone there lies a scull,<br /> +Which when it breath’d was wondrous droll;<br /> +But now ’tis dead and doom’d to rot,<br /> +This scull’s as wise, pray is it not?<br /> +As Shakspear’s, Newton’s, Prior’s, +Gay’s,<br /> +The Wits, the sages of their days.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On John Ellis.</p> +<blockquote><p>Life is certain, Death is sure,<br /> +Sin’s the wound, and Christ’s the cure.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Admiral Blake,<br /> +Who died in August, 1657.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies a man made Spain and Holland shake,<br +/> +Made France to tremble, and the Turks to quake;<br /> +Thus he tam’d men, but if a lady stood<br /> +In ’s sight, it rais’d a palsy in his blood;<br /> +Cupid’s antagonist, who on his life<br /> +Had fortune as familiar as a wife.<br /> +A stiff, hard, iron soldier, for he<br /> +It seems had more of Mars than Mercury;<br /> +At sea he thunder’d, calm’d each rising wave,<br /> +And now he’s dead sent thundering to his grave.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>In Parliament, a Burgess Cole was placed,<br /> +In Westminster the like for many Years,<br /> +But now with Saints above his Soul is graced,<br /> +And lives a Burgess with Heav’n’s Royal Peers.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 65--><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +65</span>HAMPSTEAD.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Underneath where as you see,<br /> +There lies the body of Simon Tree.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ST. BENNET, PAUL’S WHARF.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies one More, and no More than he,<br /> +One More, and no More! how can that be?<br /> +Why one More and no More may well lie here alone,<br /> +But here lies one More, and that’s More than one.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ST. LAWRENCE JEWRY.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On William Bird.</p> +<blockquote><p>One charming Bird to Paradise is flown,<br /> + Yet are we not of comfort quite bereft:<br /> +Since one of this fair brood is still our own,<br /> + And still to cheer our drooping souls is left.<br /> +This stays with us while that his flight doth take,<br /> + That earth and skies may one sweet concert make.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ST. ANDREW’S.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On Walter Good.</p> +<blockquote><p>A thing here singular this doth unfold,<br /> +Name and nature due proportion hold;<br /> +In real goodness who did live his days,<br /> +He cannot fail to die well, to his praise.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ST. GILES, CRIPPLEGATE.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On Gervase Aire.</p> +<blockquote><p>Under this marble fair,<br /> +Lies the body entomb’d of Gervase Aire:<br /> +He dyd not of an ague fit,<br /> +Nor surfeited by too much wit,<br /> +Methinks this was a wondrous death,<br /> +That Aire should die for want of breath.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 66--><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +66</span>ST. PAUL’S CATHEDRAL.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On Sir Henry Croft.</p> +<blockquote><p>Six lines this image shall delineate:—<br /> + High Croft, high borne, in spirit & in virtue +high,<br /> +Approv’d, belov’d, a Knight, stout Mars his mate,<br +/> + Love’s fire, war’s flame, in heart, +head, hand, & eye;<br /> +Which flame war’s comet, grace, now so refines,<br /> + That pined in Heaven, in Heaven and Earth it +shines.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>HENDON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Poor Ralph lies beneath this roof, and sure he +must be blest,<br /> +For though he could do nothing, he meant to do the best,<br /> +Think of your soules, ye guilty throng,<br /> +Who, knowing what is right, do wrong.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Mr. Sand.</p> +<blockquote><p>Who would live by others’ breath?<br /> + Fame deceives the dead man’s trust.<br /> +Even our names much change by death,<br /> + Sand I was, but now am Dust.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Robert Thomas Crosfield, M.D. +1802, written by himself.</p> +<blockquote><p>Beneath this stone Tom Crosfield lies,<br /> +Who cares not now who laughs or cries;<br /> +He laughed when sober, and, when mellow,<br /> +Was a harum scarum heedless fellow;<br /> +He gave to none design’d offence;<br /> +So “Honi soit qui mal y pense!”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>EDMONTON.</h4> +<p>In the churchyard on a headstone now removed, was the +following inscription to William Newberry, who was <!-- page +67--><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +67</span>hostler to an inn & died 1695, in consequence of +having taken improper medicine given him by a fellow servant.</p> +<blockquote><p>Hic jacet-Newberry Will<br /> +Vitam finivit-cum Cochiœ Pill<br /> +Quis administravit-Bellamy Sue<br /> +Quantum quantitat-nescio, scisne tu?<br /> + Ne sutor ultra crepidam.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>LAMBETH.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">R. Brigham.</p> +<blockquote><p>The Father, Mother, Daughter, in one Grave,<br /> +Lye slumbering here beneath the marble Stone;<br /> +Three, one in Love, in Tomb, in hope to have<br /> +A joyful sight of him that’s Three in One.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>HILLINGDON.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On Stephen King.</p> +<blockquote><p>Farewell, vain world, I knew enough of thee,<br /> +And now am careless what thou say’st of me,<br /> +Thy smiles I court not, nor thy frowns I fear,<br /> +My soul’s at rest, my head lies quiet here.<br /> +What faults you see in me, take care to shun,<br /> +And look at home, enough’s there to be done.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ISLINGTON.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">transcript of +an inscription</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">With the abbreviations and +spelling, as it was taken from<br /> +the plate itself, June 28th, 1751.</p> +<blockquote><p>I pye the Crysten man that hast goe to see +this:<br /> +to pye for the soulls of them that here buryed is |<br /> +And remember that in Cryst we be bretherne:<br /> +the wich hath comaundid eu’ry man to py for other |<br /> +This sayth <i>Robert Midleton & Johan</i> his Wyf.<br /> +<!-- page 68--><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +68</span>Here wrappid in clay. Abiding the mercy |<br /> +Of Almyghty god till domesdaye.<br /> +Wych was sutyme s’unt to s’ gorge hasting knyght |<br +/> +Erle of huntingdunt passid this tnscitory lyf,<br /> +in the yere of our Lord god m cccc...... |<br /> +And the......day of the moneth of ......<br /> +On whose soull Almyghty god have m’cy amen |</p> +<p>“This Inscription (says a writer in <i>The +Gentleman’s Magazine</i>, for 1751) was in <i>Gothic</i> +letters, on a plate of brass, in the middle aisle, on the floor +near the entrance into the chancel. It contains six lines, +the end of each is marked thus |; and it appears to have been +laid down in the life-time of <i>Robert Midleton</i>, because +neither the year, day, nor month are set down, but spaces left +for that purpose. I observe, that the inhabitants of +Islington want to make their church older than I presume it is, +and quote this inscription as it is in <i>Strype</i>, 1401, in +support of that notion, when it is plain 1500, and is all that it +says; and Sir G. Hastings was not created Earl of +<i>Huntingdon</i> till the 8th of December, 1529, so that this +inscription must be wrote after that time. The oldest date +that appears anywhere about the church, is at the south-east +corner of the steeple, and was not visible till the west gallery +was pulled down, it is 1483; but as these figures are of a modern +shape, it looks as if it was done in the last century; the old +way of making these characters was in <i>Arabic</i>, and not as +they are now generally made.”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>She’s gone: so, reader, must you go. +But where?</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Lady Molesworth.</p> +<blockquote><p>A peerless matron, pride of female life,<br /> +In every state, as widow, maid, or wife;<br /> +Who, wedded to threescore, preserv’d her fame,<br /> +She lived a phœnix, and expired in flame.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 69--><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +69</span>ST. AUGUSTIN’S CHURCH.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">William Lamb.</p> +<blockquote><p>O Lamb of God which Sin didst take away,<br /> + And as a Lamb was offered up for Sin.<br /> +Where I poor Lamb went from thy Flock astray,<br /> + Yet thou, O Lord, vouchsafe thy Lamb to Winn<br /> + Home to thy flock, and hold thy Lamb therein,<br /> +That at the Day when Lambs and Goats shall sever,<br /> +Of thy choice Lambs, Lamb may be one for ever.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>TEMPLE CHURCH.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Mary Gaudy, Aged 22, 1671.</p> +<blockquote><p>This fair young Virgin for a nuptial Bed<br /> +More fit, is lodg’d (sad fate!) among the Dead,<br /> +Storm’d by rough Winds, so falls in all her pride,<br /> +The full blown rose design’d t’ adorn a Bride.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>KENSINGTON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here are deposited the remains of Mrs. Ann Floyer, +the beloved wife of Mr. R<sup>d</sup> Floyer, of Thistle Grove, +in this parish, died on Thursday, the 8th of May, /23. God +hath chosen her as a pattern for the other angels.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>TEMPLE CHURCH.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Keep well this pawn, thou marble chest,<br /> +Till it be called for, let it rest;<br /> +For while this jewel here is set,<br /> +The grave is but a cabinet.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>STEPNEY.</h4> +<blockquote><p>My wife she’s dead, and here she lies,<br /> +There’s nobody laughs, and nobody cries;<br /> +Where she’s gone, and how she fares,<br /> +Nobody knows, and nobody cares.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 70--><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +70</span>ST. DUNSTAN.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies Dame Dorothy Peg,<br /> +Who never had issue except in her leg,<br /> +So great was her art, and so deep was her cunning,<br /> +Whilst one leg stood still the other kept running.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>CHISWICK.</h4> +<p>The illustrious Hogarth is buried in this churchyard, and the +following lines, by David Garrick, are inscribed on his +tomb:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Farewell! great painter of mankind,<br /> + Who reached the noblest point of art,<br /> +Whose pictur’d morals charm the mind,<br /> + And through the eye correct the heart.<br /> +If genius fire thee, reader stay,<br /> + If nature move thee, drop a tear,<br /> +If neither touch thee, turn away,<br /> + For Hogarth’s <i>honour’d dust</i> lies +here.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ST. MICHAEL’S, CROOKED LANE,</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lyeth, wrapt in clay,<br /> +The body of William Wray;<br /> +I have no more to say.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ST. ANNE’S, SOHO.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On Theodore, King of Corsica, +written by Horace Walpole.</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">Near this place is +interred.<br /> +Theodore, King of Corsica,<br /> +Who died in this parish Dec. 11, 1756,<br /> +Immediately after leaving the King’s Bench prison,<br /> +By the benefit of the Act of Insolvency,<br /> +In consequence of which he resigned<br /> +His Kingdom of Corsica<br /> +For the use of his creditors.</p> +<p><!-- page 71--><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +71</span>The grave great teacher to a level brings<br /> +Heroes and beggars, galley slaves and kings,<br /> +But Theodore this moral learn’d ere dead,<br /> +Fate pour’d its lessons on his living head,<br /> +Bestowed a kingdom and denied him bread.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Monmouthshire.</h3> +<h4>CHEPSTOW.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here or elsewhere (all’s one to you or +me),<br /> +Earth, air, or water, gripes my ghostly dust,<br /> +None knows how soon to be by fire set free;<br /> +Reader, if you an old try’d rule will trust,<br /> +You’ll gladly do and suffer what you must.<br /> +My time was spent in serving you and you.<br /> +And death’s my pay, it seems, and welcome too.<br /> +Revenge destroying but itself, while I<br /> +To birds of prey leave my old cage and fly;<br /> +Examples preach to the eye—care then (mine says)<br /> +Not how you end, but how you spend your days.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>For thirty years secluded from mankind,<br /> +Here Marten lingered. Often have these walls<br /> +Echoed his footsteps, as with even tread<br /> +He paced around his prison. Not to him<br /> +Did Nature’s fair varieties exist,<br /> +He never saw the sun’s delightful beams,<br /> +Save when through yon high bars he poured<br /> +A sad and broken splendour.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p><!-- page 72--><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +72</span>In the passage leading from the nave to the north aisle +in this church, is interred the body of Henry Marten, one of the +Judges who presided at the trial of Charles 1<sup>st</sup> with +the following Epitaph over him, written by himself:—</p> + +<blockquote><p> Here +Sept. 9<sup>th</sup> 1680,<br /> + + +was buried<br /> + A true born +Englishman.<br /> +Who, in Berkshire was well known<br /> +To love his country’s freedom like his own,<br /> +But being immured full twenty years,<br /> +Had time to write as doth appear.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>MATHERN.</h4> +<blockquote><p>John Lee is dead, that good old man,<br /> +You ne’er will see him more,<br /> +He used to wear an old brown Coat,<br /> +All buttoned down before.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lyeth entombed the body of Theodoric, King of +Morganuch, or Glamorgan, commonly called St. Theodoric, and +accounted a martyr, because he was slain in a battle against the +Saxons (being then Pagans) and in defence of the Christian +religion. The battle was fought at Tynterne, where he +obtained a great victory. He died here, being on his way +homewards, three days after the battle; having taken order with +Maurice his son, who succeeded him in the kingdom, that in the +same place he should happen to decease, a church should be built +and his body buried in the same, which was accordingly performed +in the year 600.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 73--><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +73</span>Norfolk.</h3> +<h4>HOTHILL.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Miles Branthwaite.</p> +<blockquote><p>If Death would take an answer, he was free<br /> +From all those seats of ills that he did see,<br /> +And gave no measure that he would not have<br /> +Given to him as hardly as he gave:<br /> +Then thou, Miles Branthwaite, might have answer’d Death,<br +/> +And to be so moral might boyle breath,<br /> +Thou wast not yet to die. But be thou blest,<br /> +From weary life thou art gone quiet to rest,<br /> +Joy in the freedom from a prison, thou<br /> +Wast by God’s hands pluckt out but now,<br /> +Free from the dust and cobwebs of this vale;<br /> +And richer art thou by the heavenly bail<br /> +Than he that shut thee up. This heap of stones<br /> +To thy remembrance, and to chest thy bones,<br /> +Thy wife doth consecrate; so sleep till then,<br /> +When all graves must open, all yield up their men.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>NORWICH.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Thomas Legge.</p> +<blockquote><p>That love that living made us two but one,<br /> +Wishes at last we both may have this tomb.<br /> +The head of Gostlin still continues here,<br /> +As kept for Legge, to whom it was so dear.<br /> +By death he lives, for ever to remain,<br /> +And Gostlin hopes to meet him once again.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Sarah York this life did resigne<br /> +On May the 13th, 79.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 74--><a name="page74"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 74</span>Here lies the body of honest Tom +Page,<br /> +Who died in the 33rd year of his age.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>On Bryant Lewis, who was barbarously murdered upon the heath +near Thetford, Sept. 13, 1698.</p> +<blockquote><p>Fifteen wide wounds this stone veils from thine +eyes,<br /> +But reader, hark their voice doth pierce the skies.<br /> +Vengeance, cried Abel’s blood against cursed Cain,<br /> +But better things spake Christ when he was slain.<br /> +Both, both, cries Lewis ’gainst his barbarous foes,<br /> +Blood, Lord, for blood, but save his soul from woe,</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">John Powl.</p> +<blockquote><p>Though Death hath seized on me as his prey,<br /> +Yet all must know we have a judgment day,<br /> +Therefore whilst life on earth in you remain,<br /> +Praise all your God who doth your lives maintain,<br /> +That after death to glory he may us raise,<br /> +Yield to His Majesty honour, laud, and praise.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Henry Hall.</p> +<blockquote><p>The phœnix of his time<br /> +Lies here but sordid clay;<br /> +His thoughts were most sublime;<br /> +His soul is sprung away.<br /> +Then let this grave keep in protection<br /> +His ashes until the resurrection,</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Urith Leverington.</p> +<blockquote><p>The night is come; for sleep, lo! here I stay,<br +/> +My three sweet babes sleep here—we wait for day.<br /> +That we may rise, and up to bliss ascend,<br /> +Where crowns and thrones, and robes shall us attend.<br /> +Thy worst is past, O Death; thous’t done thy part,<br /> +Thou could’st but kill, we fear no second dart.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 75--><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span>SWANTON MORLEY.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Tho<sup>s</sup> +Heming—Attorney.</p> +<blockquote><p>Weep, widows, orphans; all your late support,<br +/> +Himself is summon’d to a higher court:<br /> +Living he pleaded yours, but with this clause,<br /> +That Christ at death should only plead his cause.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>COYSTWICK.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Mrs. Sarah Mills,<br /> +Mrs. Rebecca Ward.</p> +<blockquote><p>Under this stone, in easy slumber lies<br /> +Two dusty bodies, that at last shall rise:<br /> +Their parted atoms shall again rejoin,<br /> +Be cast into new moulds by hands divine.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>HENNINGHALL.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">John Kett.</p> +<blockquote><p>Though we did live so many years,<br /> +Prepare, O youth, for Death,<br /> +For if he should at noon appear,<br /> +You must give up your breath.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>HADDISCOE.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">William Salter.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies Will Salter, honest man,<br /> +Deny it, Envy, if you can;<br /> +True to his business and his trust,<br /> +Always punctual, always just;<br /> +His horses, could they speak, would tell<br /> +They loved their good old master well.<br /> +His up-hill work is chiefly done,<br /> +His stage is ended, race is run;<br /> +One journey is remaining still,<br /> +<!-- page 76--><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +76</span>To climb up Sion’s holy hill.<br /> +And now his faults are all forgiven,<br /> +Elijah-like, drives up to heaven,<br /> +Takes the reward of all his pains,<br /> +And leaves to other hands the reins.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>HUNSTANTON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>I am not dead, but sleepeth here,<br /> +And when the trumpet sound I will appear.<br /> +Four balls through me pierced their way,<br /> +Hard it was, I had no time to pray.<br /> +The stone that here you do see<br /> +My comrades erected for the sake of me.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BURCH HEGGIN.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Acrostic Epitaph on Robert Porter, +a noted miser.</p> +<blockquote><p>R iches and wealth I now despise,<br /> +O nce the delight of heart and eyes;<br /> +B ut since I’ve known the vile deceit,<br /> +E nvy has met its own defeat.<br /> +R egardless of such empty toys,<br /> +T ell all to seek for heavenly joys.<br /> +P ull’d down by age and anxious cares,<br /> +O ppressed am I by dismal fears,<br /> +R elating to my future state,<br /> +T o know what then will be my fate.<br /> +E ternal God! to Thee I pray<br /> +R emove these fearful doubts away.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>SWAFFHAM.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Lawyer.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lieth one, believe it if you can,<br /> +Who tho’ an attorney was an honest man,<br /> +The gates of heaven shall open wide,<br /> +But will be shut against all the tribe beside.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 77--><a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +77</span>THETFORD.</h4> +<blockquote><p>My grandfather was buried here,<br /> +My cousin Jane, and two uncles dear;<br /> +My father perished with a mortification in his thighs,<br /> +My sister dropped down dead in the Minories.<br /> +But the reason why I am here, according to my thinking,<br /> +Is owing to my good living and hard drinking,<br /> +Therefore good Christians, if you’d wish to live long,<br +/> +Beware of drinking brandy, gin, or anything strong.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>LODDON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>When on this spot, affection’s down-cast +eye<br /> + The lucid tribute shall no more bestow;<br /> +When Friendship’s breast no more shall heave a sigh,<br /> + In kind remembrance of the dust below;</p> +<p>Should the rude Sexton, digging near this tomb,<br /> + A place of rest for others to prepare,<br /> +The vault beneath, to violate, presume,<br /> + May some opposing Christian cry, +“Forbear—</p> +<p>“Forbear, rash mortal, as thou hop’st to rest,<br +/> + When death shall lodge thee in thy destin’d +bed,<br /> +With ruthless spade, unkindly to molest<br /> + The peaceful slumbers of the kindred +dead!”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>GILLINGHAM.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On an Actor.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Sacred to the memory of <span +class="smcap">Thomas Jackson</span>, Comedian, who was engaged +December 21st, 1741, to play a comic cast of characters in this +great theatre, the world, for many of which he was prompted by +nature to excel—The season being ended—his benefit +over—the charges all paid, and his account closed, he made +his exit in the tragedy of Death, on the 17th of March, 1798, in +full assurance of being called once more to rehearsal, and <!-- +page 78--><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +78</span>where he hopes to find his forfeits all cleared, his +cast of parts bettered, and his situation made agreeable by Him +who paid the great stock debt, for the love He bore to performers +in general.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>LYNN.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">William Scrivener,<br /> +Cook to the Corporation.</p> +<blockquote><p>Alas! alas! <i>Will Scriviner’s</i> dead, +who by his art<br /> +Could make death’s skeleton edible in each part;<br /> +Mourn, squeamish stomachs, and ye curious palates,<br /> +You’ve lost your dainty dishes and your salades;<br /> +Mourn for yourselves, but not for him i’ th’ +least,<br /> +He’s gone to taste of a more Heav’nly feast.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Northamptonshire.</h3> +<h4>BARNWELL.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">An Innkeeper.</p> +<blockquote><p>Man’s life is like a winter’s day,<br +/> +Some only breakfast and away;<br /> +Others to dinner stay and are full fed,<br /> +The oldest man but sups and goes to bed;<br /> +Large is his debt who lingers out the day,<br /> +Who goes the soonest has the least to pay;<br /> +Death is the waiter, some few run on tick,<br /> +And some, alas! must pay the bill to Nick!<br /> +Tho’ I owe’d much, I hope long trust is given,<br /> +And truly mean to pay all debts in Heaven.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 79--><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +79</span>PETERBOROUGH.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Sir Richard Worme.</p> +<blockquote><p>Does worm eat Worm? Knight Worme this truth +confirms,<br /> +For here, with worms, lies Worme, a dish for worms.<br /> +Does worm eat Worme? sure Worme will this deny,<br /> +For Worme with worms, a dish for worms don’t lie.<br /> +’Tis so, and ’tis not so, for free from worms,<br /> +’Tis certain Worme is blest without his worms.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Jane Parker.</p> +<blockquote><p>Heare lyeth a midwife brought to bed,<br /> +Deliveresse delivered;<br /> +Her body being churched here,<br /> +Her soule gives thanks in yonder sphere.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>STAVERTON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the body of Betty Bowden,<br /> +Who would live longer, but she couden;<br /> +Sorrow and grief made her decay,<br /> +Till her bad leg card her away.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>GAYTON.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">William Houghton.</p> +<blockquote><p>Neere fourscore years have I tarryed<br /> +To this mother to be marryed;<br /> +One wife I had, and children ten,<br /> +God bless the living. Amen, Amen.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>NORTHAMPTON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Pray for me, old Thomas Dunn,<br /> +But if you don’t, ’tis all one.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 80--><a name="page80"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 80</span>Here lies the corpse of Susan Lee,<br +/> +Who died of heartfelt pain;<br /> +Because she loved a faithless he,<br /> +Who loved not her again.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Nottinghamshire.</h3> +<h4>ALVERTON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Beneath the droppings of this spout, <a +name="citation80a"></a><a href="#footnote80a" +class="citation">[80a]</a><br /> +Here lies the body once so stout,<br /> + Of <span +class="smcap">Francis Thompson</span>.<br /> +A soul this carcase long possess’d,<br /> +Which for its virtue was caress’d,<br /> +By all who knew the owner best.<br /> +The <i>Rufford</i> <a name="citation80b"></a><a +href="#footnote80b" class="citation">[80b]</a> records can +declare<br /> +His actions, who, for seventy year,<br /> +Both drew and drank its potent beer.<br /> +Fame mention not in all that time,<br /> +In this great Butler the least crime,<br /> + To stain +his reputation.<br /> +To Envy’s self we now appeal,<br /> +If aught of fault she can reveal,<br /> + To make +her declaration.<br /> + Then rest, +good shade, nor hell nor vermin fear;<br /> + Thy +virtues guard thy soul—thy body good strong beer.<br /> + He died July 6, 1739, aged 83.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>NEWARK.</h4> +<blockquote><p>From earth my body first arose,<br /> +And now to earth again it goes:<br /> +I ne’er desire to have it more,<br /> +To tease me as it did before.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 81--><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +81</span>Northumberland.</h3> +<h4>NEWCASTLE.</h4> + +<blockquote><p> Here +lies poor Wallace,<br /> + The prince of +good fellows,<br /> + Clerk of +Allhallows,<br /> + And maker of +bellows.<br /> +He bellows did make to the day of his death,<br /> +But he that made bellows could never make breath.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lies James, of tender affection,<br /> +Here lies Isabell, of sweet complexion,<br /> +Here lies Katheren, a pleasant child,<br /> +Here lies Mary, of all most mild,<br /> +Here lies Alexander, a babe most sweet,<br /> +Here lies Jannet, as the Lord saw meet.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ALNWICK.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lieth Martin Elphinston,<br /> +Who with his sword did cut in sun-<br /> +der the daughter of Sir Harry<br /> +Crispe, who did his daughter marry.<br /> +She was fat and fulsome;<br /> +But men will some-<br /> +times eat bacon with their bean,<br /> +And love the fat as well as lean.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>TYNEMOUTH.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Wha lies here?<br /> +Pate Watt, gin ye speer.<br /> +Poor Pate! is that thou?<br /> +Ay, by my soul, is ’t;<br /> +But I’s dead now.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 82--><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +82</span>ILDERTON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Under this stone lies Bobbity John,<br /> +Who, when alive, to the world was a wonder;<br /> +And would have been so yet, had not death in a fit,<br /> +Cut his soul and his body asunder.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Oxfordshire.</h3> +<h4>WOLVERCOT.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Fair Rosomond’s Tomb.</p> +<p>Rosomond was buried at Godstow, a small island formed by the +divided stream of the Isis, in the parish of Wolvercot, near +Oxford. The following quaint epitaph was inscribed upon her +tomb:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Hic jacet in Thumba, Rosa Mundi, non +Rosamunda,<br /> +Non redolet sed olet, quæ redolere solet.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">Imitated in English.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Here lies not Rose the chaste, but Rose the +Fair,<br /> +Her scents no more perfume, but taint the air.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">Another translation.</p> +<blockquote><p>“The Rose of the World, a sad minx,<br /> + Lies here;—let’s hope she repented:<br +/> +She doesn’t smell well now, but stinks,—<br /> +She always <i>used</i> to be scented.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">Another.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here doth Fayre Rosamund like any peasant lie:<br +/> +She once was fragrant, but now smells unpleasantly.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 83--><a +name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span>On +Meredith—an Organist.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies one blown out of breath,<br /> +Who lived a merry life, and died a Merideth.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Letter Founder.</p> +<blockquote><p>Under this stone lies honest <span +class="smcap">Syl</span>,<br /> +Who dy’d—though sore against his will;<br /> +Yet in his fame, he shall survive,—<br /> +Learning shall keep his name alive;<br /> +For he the parent was of letters,<br /> +And <i>founded</i>, to <i>confound</i> his betters;<br /> +Though what those letters should contain,<br /> +Did never once concern his brain,<br /> +Since, therefore, Reader, he is gone,<br /> +Pray let him not be trod upon.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Old Vicar Sutor lieth here,<br /> +Who had a Mouth from ear to ear,<br /> +Reader tread lightly on the sod,<br /> +For if he gapes, your’ gone by G--.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lieth the body of Ann Sellars, buried by this +stone,<br /> +Who dyed on January 15th day, 1731.<br /> +Likewise here lies dear Isaac Sellars, my Husband and my +Right,<br /> +Who was buried on that same day come seven years, 1738.<br /> +In seven years time there comes a change! observe, and here +you’ll see<br /> +On that same day come seven years, my husband’s laid by +me.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 84--><a name="page84"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 84</span>E. G. Hancock, died August 3, +1666.<br /> +John Hancock, Sen. ---- 4, ----<br /> +John Hancock, Jun. ---- 7, ----<br /> +Oner Hancock, +---- 7, ----<br /> +William Hancock, ---- 7, ----<br /> +Alice Hancock, ---- 9, +----<br /> +Ann Hancock, ---- +10, ----</p> +<p>What havoc Death made in one family, in the course of Seven +days.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ENSHAM.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On John Green.</p> +<blockquote><p>If true devotion or tryde honesty<br /> +Could have for him got long lives liberty,<br /> +Nere had he withered but still growne Green,<br /> +Nor dyed but to ye Poor still helping been.<br /> +But he is tane from us yet this we comfort have,<br /> +Heaven hath his Soule still (Green) though body is wasting +Grave,<br /> + In progeniêm filii defunctam adjacentam.<br /> +My fruit first failed here we low ly,<br /> +Live well then, fear not all must dy.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BANBURY.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here do lye our dear boy,<br /> +Whom God hath tain from me:<br /> +And we do hope that us shall go to he,<br /> +For he can never come back again to we.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>NETTLEBED.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Both young and old that passeth by,<br /> +Remember well that here lies I,<br /> +Then think on Death, for soon too true,<br /> +Alas twill be that here lies you.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p><!-- page 85--><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +85</span>A doctor of divinity, who lies in the neighbourhood of +Oxford, has his complaint stated for him with unusual brevity, as +well as his place of interment:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“He died of a quinsy,<br /> +And was buried at Binsey.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Rutlandshire.</h3> +<h4>OAKHAM.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">John Spong, Jobbing Carpenter.</p> +<blockquote><p>Who many a sturdy oak had lain along,<br /> +Fell’d by Death’s surer hatchet, here lies <span +class="smcap">Spong</span>,<br /> +Posts oft he made, but ne’er a place could get,<br /> +And liv’d by railing, though he was no wit:<br /> +Old saws he had, although no antiquarian,<br /> +And stiles corrected, yet was no grammarian.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Shropshire.</h3> +<h4>SHREWSBURY.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On an Old Maid.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the body of Martha Dias,<br /> +Who was always uneasy, and not over pious;<br /> +She lived to the age of threescore and ten,<br /> +And gave that to the worms she refused to the men.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 86--><a +name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>On a +Watchmaker.</p> +<blockquote><p>Thy movements, Isaac, kept in play,<br /> +Thy wheels of life felt no decay<br /> + For fifty years at least;<br /> +Till, by some sudden, secret stroke,<br /> +The balance or the mainspring broke,<br /> + And all the movements ceas’d.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>SHIFFNALL.</h4> +<blockquote><p>August 7th, 1714, Mary, the wife of Joseph Yates, +of Lizard Common, within the parish, was buried, aged 127 +years. She walked to London just after the Fire, in 1666; +was hearty and strong at 120 years; and married a third husband +at 92.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>CEUN.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Charles Dike.</p> +<blockquote><p>Joyous his birth, wealth o’er his cradle +shone,<br /> +Gen’rous he prov’d, far was his bounty known;<br /> +Men, horses, hounds were feasted at his hall,<br /> +There strangers found a welcome bed and stall;<br /> +Quick distant idlers answered to his horn,<br /> +And all was gladness in the sportsman’s morn.</p> +<p>But evening came, and colder blew the gale,<br /> +Means, overdone, had now begun to fail;<br /> +His wine was finished, and he ceas’d to brew,<br /> +And fickle friends now hid them from his view.<br /> +Unknown, neglected, pin’d the man of worth,<br /> +Death his best friend, his resting-place the Earth.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>The following is copied from a head-stone, set up in the +churchyard of High Ercall. Those who are fond of the +sublime, will certainly rejoice over this precious poetical +morsel:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 87--><a +name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>Salop, Oct. +1797.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Elizabeth</span> the Wife Of <span +class="smcap">Richard Baarlamb</span>,<br /> +passed to Eternity on Sunday, the 21st of May,<br /> +1797, in the 71st year of her age.</p> +<p>When terrestrial all in Chaos shall Exhibit effervescence,<br +/> +Then Celestial virtues in their most Refulgent Brilliant +essence,<br /> +Shall with beaming Beauteous Radiance, thro’ the ebullition +Shine;<br /> +Transcending to Glorious Regions Beatifical, Sublime.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>CHURCH STRETTON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>On a Thursday she was born,<br /> +On a Thursday made a bride,<br /> +On a Thursday put to bed,<br /> +On a Thursday broke her leg, and<br /> +On a Thursday died.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Somersetshire.</h3> +<h4>BARWICK.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Sarah Higmore, æt. 6.</p> +<blockquote><p>Ye modern fair, who’er you be,<br /> + This Truth we can aver:<br /> +A lesson of humility<br /> + You all may learn from her.<br /> +She had what none of you can boast,<br /> + With all your Wit and Sense—<br /> +She had what you, alas! have lost,<br /> + And that was—Innocence.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 88--><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +88</span>TAUNTON.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">James Waters.</p> +<blockquote><p>Death, traversing the western road,<br /> +And asking where true merit lay,<br /> +Made in this town a short abode,<br /> +And took this worthy man away.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>YEOVIL.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">John Webb,</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Son of John and Mary Webb, +Clothiers, who died of the<br /> +measles, May 3d, 1646, aged 3 years.</p> +<blockquote><p> How still he lies!<br /> + And clos’d his eyes,<br /> +That shone as bright as day!<br /> + The cruel measles,<br /> + Like <i>clothier’s teasels</i>,<br /> +Have scratched his life away.</p> +<p> <i>Cochineal red</i>,<br /> + His lips have fled,<br /> +Which now are <i>blue</i> and <i>black</i>.<br /> + Dear pretty wretch,<br /> + How thy limbs <i>stretch</i>,<br /> +Like <i>cloth upon</i> the <i>rack</i>.</p> +<p> <i>Repress</i> thy sighs,<br /> + The husband cries,<br /> +My dear, and not repine,<br /> + For ten to one,<br /> + When God’s work’s done,<br /> +He’ll <i>come off superfine</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 89--><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +89</span>Staffordshire.</h3> +<h4>YOXHALL.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On Anthony Cooke, who died on +Easter Monday.</p> +<blockquote><p>At the due sacrifice of the Paschall Lambe,<br /> +April had 8 days wept in showers, then came<br /> +Leane, hungry death, who never pitty tooke,<br /> +And cause the feast was ended, slew this Cooke.<br /> +On Easter Monday, he lyves then noe day more,<br /> +But sunk to rise with him that rose before;<br /> +He’s here intomb’d; a man of virtue’s line<br +/> +Out reacht his yeares, yet they were seventy-nine.<br /> +He left on earth ten children of eleven<br /> +To keep his name, whilst himself went to heaven.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BILSTON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>In Mem. of Mary Maria, wife of W<sup>m</sup> Dodd, +who died Dec<sup>r</sup> 12th, A.D. 1847, aged 27. Also of +their children, Louisa, who died Dec<sup>r</sup> 12th, 1847, aged +9 months; and Alfred, who died Jan<sup>y</sup> 3rd, A. D. 1848, +aged 2 years and 9 months.</p> +<p>All victims to the neglect of sanitary regulation, and +specially referred to in a recent lecture on Health in this +town.</p> +<p>And the Lord said to the angel that destroyed, it is enough, +stay now thine hand.—1 Chron. xx. 17.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>In Mem. of Joseph, son of Joseph and Mary Meek, +who was accidentally drowned in the cistern of the day school +adjoining this church, April 30th, 1845, aged 8 years. This +distressing event is recorded by the minister, as an expression +of sympathy with the parents, and caution to the children of the +school—a reproof to the proprietors of the open wells, pits +and landslips; the want of fencing <!-- page 90--><a +name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>about which +is the frequent cause of similar disaster in these districts; and +as a memento to all of the uncertainty of life, and the +consequent necessity of immediate and continued preparation for +death.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>“And if any man ask you, Why do you loose +him? Then shall ye say unto him, Because the Lord hath need +of him.” <a name="citation90"></a><a href="#footnote90" +class="citation">[90]</a>—Luke xix. 31.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BUTTERTON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Near to this stone John Barnett lies,<br /> +There’s no man frets, nor no man cries,<br /> +Where he’s gone, or how he fares,<br /> +There’s no man knows, nor no man cares.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>STAFFORD.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here Leah’s fruitfulness,<br /> + Here Rachael’s beauty;<br /> +Here lyeth Rebecca’s faith,<br /> + Here Sarah’s duty.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>WOLSTANSTON.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Ann Jennings.</p> +<blockquote><p>Some have children, some have none;<br /> +Here lies the mother of twenty-one.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>LICHFIELD.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Live well—die never;<br /> +Die well—live for ever.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 91--><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +91</span>Suffolk.</h3> +<h4>BURY ST. EDMUNDS.</h4> +<p>The following whimsical epitaph appears upon a white marble +slab, in a conspicuous part of the church of St. Mary:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Near this place are deposited the remains of +Gedge, Printer, who established the first newspaper that has been +published in this town. Like a worn out type, he is +returned to the <i>founder</i>, in the hope of being recast in a +better and more perfect mould.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>HADLEIGH.</h4> +<blockquote><p>The charnel mounted on this +w )<br /> +Sits to be seen in +funer )<br +/> +A matron plain, +domestic +)<br /> +In housewifery a +princip +)<br /> +In care and pains +continu )<br /> +Not slow, nor gay, nor prodig ) all.<br +/> +Yet neighbourly and hospitab )<br +/> +Her children seven yet living )<br /> +Her 67th year hence did +c )<br /> +To rest her body +natur +)<br /> +In hope to rise +spiritu +)</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On little Stephen, a noted +fiddler.</p> +<blockquote><p>Stephen and Time<br /> + Are now both even;<br /> +Stephen beat Time,<br /> + Now Time beats Stephen.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Life is only pain below,<br /> +When Christ appears, then up we go.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 92--><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +92</span>IPSWICH.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">John Warner.</p> +<blockquote><p>I Warner once was to myself,<br /> + Now Warning am to thee,<br /> +Both living, dying, dead I was,<br /> + See then thou warned be.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On ---- More, of Norwich.</p> +<blockquote><p>More had I once, More would I have;<br /> + More is not to be had.<br /> +The first I . . . the next is vaine;<br /> + The third is too too bad.<br /> +If I had us’d with more regard<br /> + The More that I did give,<br /> +I might have made More use and fruit<br /> + Of More while he did live.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>THURLOW.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here she lies, a pretty bud,<br /> +Lately made of flesh and blood;<br /> +Who as soon fell fast asleep<br /> +As her little eyes did peep.<br /> +Give her strewings, but not stir<br /> +The earth that lightly covers her.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>LAVENHAM.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Quod fuit esse quod est, quod non fuit esse quod +esse.<br /> +Esse quod est non esse, quod est non erit esse.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">Translation.</p> +<blockquote><p>What John Giles has been,<br /> +Is what he is (a batchelor);<br /> +What he has not been,<br /> +Is what he is (a corpse);<br /> +<!-- page 93--><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +93</span>To be what he is<br /> +Is not to be (a living creature).<br /> +He will not have to be<br /> +What he is not (dust).</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BURY.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies Jane Kitchen, who, when her glass was +spent,<br /> +Kickt up her heels, and away she went.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Surrey.</h3> +<h4>BERMONDSEY.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">William Palin.</p> +<blockquote><p>Silent grave, to thee I trust<br /> +This precious pearl of worthy dust.<br /> +Keep it safe, O sacred tomb!<br /> +Until a wife shall ask for room.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>WALWORTH.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the wife of Roger Martin,<br /> +She was a good wife to Roger—that’s sartain.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>OCKHAM.</h4> +<blockquote><p>The Lord saw good, I was topping off wood,<br /> + And down fell from the tree;<br /> +I met with a check, and I broke my blessed neck,<br /> + And so Death topped off me.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>WIMBLEDON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Sweet Saviour, Jesus, give me wings<br /> + Of Peace and perfect Love,<br /> +As I may move from Earthly Things,<br /> + To rest with thee above.</p> +<p><!-- page 94--><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +94</span>For sins and Sorrows overflow<br /> + All earthly things so High,<br /> +That I can’t find no rest below,<br /> + Till up to thee I fly.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>THAMES DITTON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>In memory of Mr. W<sup>m </sup>Machell, who +departed this life Oct. 10, 1808. Aged 88 years.</p> +<p>Whilst in this world I remained, my life was<br /> +A pleasure and health and gain. But now<br /> +God thought best to take me to his everlasting rest,<br /> + + +And I thank God for it.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>STREATHAM.</h4> +<blockquote><p>On the South Wall of this Church is the following +remarkable Inscription:—Elizabeth, wife of +Major-Gen<sup>l</sup> Hamilton, who was married 47 years, and +never did ONE thing to disoblige her Husband.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BATTERSEA.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Sir Edward Court.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Alone, unarm’d, a tiger he +oppress’d,<br /> +And crush’d to death the monster of a beast:<br /> +Thrice twenty mounted Moors he overthrew<br /> +Singly on foot, some wounded, some he slew,<br /> +Disperst the rest; what more could Sampson do?”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Note</span>.—This is only part of +the inscription, which relates that, being attacked in the woods +by a tiger, he placed himself on the side of a pond, and when the +tiger flew at him, he caught him in his arms, fell back with him +into the water, got upon him, and kept him down till he had +drowned him.</p> +<h4><!-- page 95--><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +95</span>GUILDFORD.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Reader, pass on, ne’er waste your time<br /> +On bad biography and bitter rhyme;<br /> +For what I am, this cumb’rous clay insures,<br /> +And what I was, is no affair of yours.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BEDDINGTON.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Thomas Greenhill.</p> +<blockquote><p>Under thy feet interr’d is here<br /> +A native born in Oxfordshire;<br /> +First life and learning Oxford gave,<br /> +Surry him his death and grave;<br /> +He once a Hill was fresh and Greene,<br /> +Now withered is not to be seene;<br /> +Earth in earth shovell’d up is shut,<br /> +A Hill into a Hole is put;<br /> +But darksome earth by Power Divine,<br /> +Bright at last as the sun may shine.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>RICHMOND.</h4> +<p>On Captain John Dunch, who died in 1697, aged 67.</p> +<blockquote><p>Though Boreas’ blasts and Neptune’s +waves<br /> + Have tossed me to and fro,<br /> +In spight of both, by God’s decree,<br /> + I anchor here below,<br /> +Where I do now at anchor ride,<br /> + With many of our fleet,<br /> +Yet once again I must set sail,<br /> + Our admiral, Christ, to meet.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>CAMBERWELL.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Richard Wade, died Oct. 21, 1810, +aged 53.<br /> +Giles Wade, died Dec. 8, 1810, aged 53.</p> +<blockquote><p>Near together they came,<br /> +Near together they went,<br /> +Near together they are.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 96--><a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +96</span>Sussex.</h3> +<h4>BARCOMB.</h4> +<blockquote><p>All you that come my grave to see<br /> +Prepare yourself to Follow me,<br /> +Take care Young men repent in time<br /> +For I was taken in my Prime.</p> +<p>As I was going through a Barn<br /> +I little thought of any harm,<br /> +A piece of Timber on me fell,<br /> +And penetrated through my Skull.</p> +<p>My Eyes were Blinded I could not see,<br /> +My Parents they did weep for Me,<br /> +My Time was come I was Forced to go,<br /> +And bid the World and Them Adieu.</p> +<p>Just six and thirty hours I lay<br /> +In great Pain and Agony,<br /> +Till the Archangel bid me come,<br /> +And called my Soul to its last Home.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>CHICHESTER.</h4> +<p>A certain noble lord of no very moral life, dying, had +inscribed upon his tomb, the phrase, “Ultima +Domus,”—Collins, the poet, is said to have +pencill’d those lines under the words:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Did he who wrote upon this wall,<br /> + Believe or disbelieve St. Paul?<br /> +Who says where-er it is or stands,<br /> + There is another house not made with hands,<br /> +Or do we gather from these words,<br /> + That house is not a house of lords?</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 97--><a name="page97"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 97</span>Here lies an old soldier whom all +must applaud,<br /> +Who fought many battles at home and abroad;<br /> +But the hottest engagement he ever was in,<br /> +Was the conquest of self in the battle of sin.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BEXHILL.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Young Lady.</p> +<blockquote><p>I lay me down to rest me,<br /> +And pray to God to bless me,<br /> +And if I sleep and never wake,<br /> +I pray to God my soul to take<br /> +This night for Evermore—Amen.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>WEST GRINSTEAD.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Vast Strong was I, but yet did dye,<br /> +And in my Grave asleep I Lye,<br /> +My Grave is Stoned all round about,<br /> +But I hope the Lord will find me out.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>MAYFIELD.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Oh reader! if that thou can’st read<br /> +Look down upon this stone;<br /> +Do all we can, Death is a man,<br /> +What never spareth none.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>STORRINGTON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the body of Edward Hide,<br /> +We laid him here because he died,<br /> +We had rather<br /> +It been his father,<br /> +If it had been his sister<br /> +We should not have missed her,<br /> +But since ’tis honest Ned,<br /> +No more shall be said.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 98--><a name="page98"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 98</span>Here lies my poor wife, without bed +or blanket,<br /> +But dead as a door nail, God be thanked.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>LAVANT.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Mr. Samford, Blacksmith.</p> +<blockquote><p>My Sledge and hammer lie reclined,<br /> +My Bellows, too, have lost their wind;<br /> +My fire’s extinct, my forge decayed,<br /> +And in the dust my vice is laid;<br /> +My coal is spent, my iron gone,<br /> +My nails are drove, my work is done.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>EAST GRINSTEAD.</h4> +<blockquote><p>I was as grass that did grow up,<br /> +And wither’d before it grew,<br /> +As Snails do waste within their Shells,<br /> +So the number of my days were few.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>RODMELL.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Elizabeth Ellis (1757).</p> +<blockquote><p>If love and virtue doth conduce to grace the +fair,<br /> +These was once possessed by her who lieth here;<br /> +But alas! by fate the object of her love was drowned.<br /> +By death surprized in trying to save a hound.<br /> +Which such effect had on her tender mind<br /> +It brought her into a deep decline.<br /> +With him her transitory bliss is fled,<br /> +And she a cold companion of the dead.<br /> +Since this catastrophe cannot fail to show<br /> +How uncertain all earthly joys are here below.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BRIGHTON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>His fate was hard, but God’s decree<br /> +Was, drown’d he should lie—in the sea.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 99--><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>Warwickshire.</h3> +<h4>BIRMINGHAM.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">By a Lady on her Husband.</p> +<blockquote><p>Oh! cruel death, how could you be so unkind,<br /> +To take <i>him</i> before, and leave me behind.<br /> +You should have taken both of us—if either,<br /> +Which would have been more pleasant to the <i>survivor</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>My time is out, my glass is run,<br /> +I never more shan’t see the sun;<br /> +To live for ever, no man don’t,<br /> +The Lord does not think fitting on’t.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>COVENTRY.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Upon a rich Merchant’s +Wife.</p> +<blockquote><p>She was What was,<br /> +But words are Wanting to say what a One.<br /> +What a Wife should be,<br /> +She was that.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>STRATFORD ON AVON.</h4> +<p>On Shakspeare’s Monument are engraved the following +distich and lines:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Judicio Pylium, genio Socratem, arte +Maronem,<br /> +Terra tegit, populus mœret, Olympus habet.”</p> +<p>“Stay, passenger, why dost thou go so fast?<br /> +Read, if thou canst, what envious death hath placed<br /> +Within this monument; Shakspeare, with whom<br /> +Quick nature died; whose name doth deck the tomb<br /> +Far more than cost, since all that he hath writ<br /> +Leaves living art but page unto his wit.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 100--><a name="page100"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 100</span>Westmoreland.</h3> +<h4>RAVENSTONEDALE.</h4> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">Here lies a Wife,<br /> +Mary Metcalf,<br /> +Where I was born, or when,<br /> +It matters not,—<br /> +To whom related, or<br /> +By whom begot.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">John Robinson Hunter,<br /> +Aged 30.</p> +<blockquote><p>He lived; and died<br /> +Unplaced, unpensioned—<br /> +No man’s heir<br /> +Or slave.</p> +<p>“Can the inhabitants of Ravenstonedale look at either of +these monuments without blushing? Can the freeholders of +that parish look at the latter, and not consider it prophetically +as the voice of one speaking from the dead?”</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Wiltshire.</h3> +<h4>SALISBURY.</h4> +<blockquote><p>“Innocence embellishes, divinely +compleat,<br /> +The pre-existing co-essence, now sublimely great.<br /> +He can surpassingly immortalize thy theme,<br /> +And perforate thy soul, celestial supreme.<br /> +When gracious refulgence bids the grave resign<br /> +The Creator’s nursing protection be thine.<br /> +So shall each perspiring æther joyfully arise,<br /> +Transcendantly good, supereminently wise.”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 101--><a name="page101"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 101</span>In the morning I was well,<br /> +In the afternoon from a cart I fell,<br /> +An accident somewhat severe,<br /> +In less than a fortnight brought me here.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ANSTEY.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Mary Best lies buried hear,<br /> +Her age it was just ninety year;<br /> +Twenty-eight she liv’d a single life,<br /> +And only four years was a wife;<br /> +She liv’d a widow fifty-eight,<br /> +And died January 11, eighty-eight.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>CALNE.</h4> +<blockquote><p>God worketh wonders now and then,<br /> +Here lies a miller, and an honest man.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Worcestershire.</h3> +<h4>WORCESTER.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Mr. John Mole.</p> +<blockquote><p>Beneath this cold stone lies a son of the +earth;<br /> +His story is short, though we date from his birth;<br /> +His mind was as gross as his body was big;<br /> +He drank like a fish, and he ate like a pig.<br /> +No cares of religion, of wedlock, or state,<br /> +Did e’er for a moment encumber John’s pate.<br /> +He sat or he walked, but his walk was but creeping,<br /> +And he rose from his bed—when quite tir’d of +sleeping.<br /> +<!-- page 102--><a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +102</span>Without foe, without friend, unnotic’d he +died;<br /> +Not a single soul laughed, not a single soul cried.<br /> +Like his four-footed namesake, he dearly lov’d earth.<br /> +So the sexton has cover’d his body with turf.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Mammy and I together lived<br /> + Just two years and a half;<br /> +She went first, I followed next,<br /> + The cow before the calf.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BROMESGROVE.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">In memory of Thomas Maningly.</p> +<blockquote><p>Beneath this stone lies the remains,<br /> +Who in Bromsgrove-street was slain.<br /> +A currier with his knife did the deed,<br /> +And left me in the street to bleed;<br /> +But when archangel’s trump shall sound,<br /> +And souls to bodies join, that murderer<br /> +I hope will see my soul in heaven shine.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>GREAT MALVERN.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Pain was my portion, physic was my food,<br /> +Grones my devotion—drugs done me no good.<br /> +Christ was my physician—he knowed what was best,<br /> +He took me to Himself, and put me here at rest.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BELBROUGTON</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Richard Philpots.</p> +<blockquote><p>To tell a merry or a wonderous tale<br /> +Over a chearful glass of nappy Ale,<br /> +In harmless mirth was his supreme delight,<br /> +To please his Guests or Friends by day or night;<br /> +<!-- page 103--><a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +103</span>But no fine tale, how well soever told,<br /> +Could make the tyrant Death his stroak withold;<br /> +That fatal Stroak has Laid him here in Dust,<br /> +To rise again once more with Joy we trust.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>On the upper portion of this Christian monument are carved, in +full relief, a punch-bowl, a flagon, and a bottle, emblems of the +deceased’s faith, and of those pots which Mr. Philpots +delighted to fill.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>“Near to this is a fine tombstone to the +memory of Paradise Buckler (who died in 1815), the daughter of a +gipsy king. The pomp that attended her funeral is well +remembered by many of the inhabitants. I have heard one of +my relatives say that the gipsies borrowed from her a dozen of +the finest damask napkins (for the coffin handles)—none but +those of the very best quality being accepted for the +purpose—and that they were duly returned, beautifully +‘got up’ and scented. The king and his family +were encamped in a lane near to my relative’s house, and +his daughter (a young girl of fifteen) died in the camp.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">“<span class="smcap">C. +Bede</span>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Yorkshire.</h3> +<h4>LEEDS.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Under this stone do lie six children small,<br /> +Of John Wittington of the North Hall.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Learned Alderman.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies William Curtis, late our Lord Mayor,<br +/> +Who has left <i>this here</i> world, and is gone to <i>that +there</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 104--><a name="page104"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 104</span>SELBY.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the body of poor <i>Frank Row</i>,<br /> + Parish clerk, and grave-stone cutter;<br /> +And this is writ to let you know,<br /> +What <i>Frank</i> for others us’d to do,<br /> + Is now for <i>Frank</i> done by another.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BARWICK-IN-ELMET.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Marine Officer.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies, retired from busy scenes,<br /> +A first lieutenant of marines,<br /> +Who lately lived in gay content<br /> +On board the brave ship <i>Diligent</i>.<br /> +Now stripped of all his warlike show,<br /> +And laid in box of elm below,<br /> +Confined in earth in narrow borders,<br /> +He rises not till further orders.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BIRSTALL.</h4> +<blockquote><p>This is to the memory of old Amos,<br /> +Who was, when alive for hunting famous,<br /> +But now his chases are all o’er,<br /> +And here he’s earthed—of years fourscore.<br /> +Upon this stone he’s often sat,<br /> +And tried to read his epitaph;<br /> +And thou who dost so at this moment,<br /> +Shalt, ere long, somewhere lie dormant.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ROTHERHAM.</h4> +<blockquote><p>We joined was in mutual love,<br /> + And so we did remain,<br /> +Till parted was by God above,<br /> + In hopes to meet again.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 105--><a name="page105"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 105</span>LEEDS.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Hic jacet sure the fattest man,<br /> +That Yorkshire stingo made;<br /> +He was a lover—of his can,<br /> +A clothier by his trade.<br /> +His waist did measure three yards round,<br /> +He weighed almost three hundred pounds;<br /> +His flesh did weigh full twenty stone—<br /> +His flesh, I say, he had no bone,<br /> +At least ’tis said that he had none.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>NORTH ALLERTON.</h4> +<blockquote><p> Hic jacet Walter Gun,<br /> + Some time Landlord of the Sun;<br /> +Sic transit gloria mundi.<br /> + He drank hard upon Friday,<br /> + That being a high day,<br /> +Then took to his bed and died upon Sunday.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>WADDINGTON.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">W<sup>m</sup>. R<sup>d</sup>. +Phelp, a Boatswain of H.M.S. Invincible.</p> +<blockquote><p>When I was like you,<br /> +For years not a few,<br /> +On the ocean I toil’d,<br /> +On the line I have broil’d,<br /> +In Greenland I’ve shiver’d,<br /> +Now from hardships deliver’d;<br /> +Capsized by old Death,<br /> +I surrendered my breath,<br /> +And now I lay snug,<br /> +As a bug in a rug.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 106--><a name="page106"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 106</span>LEEDS.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies my wife,<br /> + Here lies she;<br /> +Hallelujah,<br /> + Hallelujee.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>RICHMOND.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the body of William Wix,<br /> +One Thousand, Seven Hundred & Sixty Six.</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><!-- page 107--><a name="page107"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 107</span>Wales.</h2> +<h3><!-- page 109--><a name="page109"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 109</span>Carmarthenshire.</h3> +<h4>CARMARTHEN.</h4> +<blockquote><p>A hopeful youth, and well beloved,<br /> +Has to the earth his body bequeathed.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Carnarvonshire.</h3> +<h4>ABERCONWAY.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lieth the body of Nicholas Hooker, of Conway, +Gent.<br /> +Who was the one and fortieth child of William Hooker, Esq.by<br +/> +Alice his wife, and the father of twenty-seven children.<br /> + He died on the 20th day of March, 1637.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>CARNARVON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Dust from dust at first was taken,—<br /> +Dust by dust is now forsaken;<br /> +Dust in dust shall still remain,<br /> +Till dust from dust shall rise again.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Denbighshire.</h3> +<h4>WREXHAM.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies a Church-warden,<br /> +A choice flower in that garden,<br /> +Joseph Critchley by name,<br /> +Who lived in good fame<br /> +Being gone to rest,<br /> +Without doubt he is blest.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 110--><a name="page110"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 110</span>Montgomeryshire.</h3> +<h4>MONTGOMERY.</h4> +<blockquote><p>All you that come our grave to see<br /> +A moment pause and think,<br /> +How we are in eternity<br /> +And you are on the brink.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>BERRIEW.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Farewell, my dear and loving wife,<br /> +Partner of the cares of life,<br /> +And you my children now adieu,<br /> +Since I no more can come to you.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>GUILDSFIELD.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Beneath this yew tree<br /> +Buried would he be,<br /> +Because his father, he,<br /> +Planted this yew tree.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Pembrokeshire.</h3> +<h4>LLANVAIR.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Who Ever hear on Sonday,<br /> +Will practis playing at Ball,<br /> +It may be be Fore Munday<br /> +The devil Will Have you All.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Radnorshire.</h3> +<h4>RADNOR.</h4> +<blockquote><p>In health and strength unthinking of my fate,<br +/> +Death like a thief knock’d at my Bolted gate,<br /> +I hasted down to know the reason why<br /> +That noise was made, Death Quickly did Reply,<br /> +For thee I Call, thy Soul is now Requir’d,<br /> +I trembling gaz’d and Instantly Expir’d.</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><!-- page 111--><a name="page111"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 111</span>Scotland.</h2> +<h3><!-- page 113--><a name="page113"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 113</span>Ayrshire.</h3> +<h4>MUIRKIRK.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Inscription.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies John Smith<br /> +who was shot by Col.<br /> +Buchan and the laird<br /> +of Lee. Feb. 1685.<br /> +For his adherence to the<br /> +word of God and Scot<br /> +land’s covenanted w-<br /> +ork of reformation,<br /> +Rev. 12, ii. Erected in the<br /> +year 1731.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Epitaph.</p> +<blockquote><p>When proud apostates<br /> +did abjure Scotland’s<br /> +reformation pure And<br /> +fill’d this land with perj<br /> +ury and all sorts of In-<br /> +iquity Such as would not<br /> +with them comply They pe<br /> +rsecute with hue and<br /> +cry. I in the flight<br /> +was overtane And fo<br /> +r the truth by them<br /> +was slain.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 114--><a name="page114"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 114</span>Caithnessshire.</h3> +<h4>HALKIRK.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Sir Jno. Graham.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies Sir John the Grame both right and +wise,<br /> +One of the chiefs rescued Scotland thrice,<br /> +An better knight ne’re to the world was lent<br /> +Than was good Grame of truth and hardiment.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Dumfriesshire.</h3> +<h4>HODDAM.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lyes a man, who all his mortal life<br /> +Past mending clocks but could not mend hys wyfe.<br /> +The ‘larum of his bell was ne’er sae shrill<br /> +As was her tongue, aye clacking like a mill.<br /> +But now he’s gane—oh, whither? nane can +tell—<br /> +I hope beyond the sound o’ Mally’s bell.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lies John Speir<br /> +Dumfreise—Pipier,<br /> +Young John?—Fy Fy.<br /> +Old John?—Ay Ay.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Edinburghshire.</h3> +<h4>EDINBURGH.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lie I, Martin Eldinbrode,<br /> +Ha’ mercy on my soul, Loord Gode;<br /> +As I would do, were I Lord Gode,<br /> +And thou wert Martin Eldinbrode.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 115--><a name="page115"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 115</span>John McPherson<br /> +Was a wonderful person,<br /> +He was six feet two<br /> +Without his shoe,<br /> +And he was slew<br /> +At Waterloo.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lies Donald and his wife<br /> +Janet Mac Fee,<br /> +Aged Forty hee,<br /> +Aged thirty shee.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lieth the limbs of a lang devil,<br /> +Wha! in his time has done much evil,<br /> +And oft the ale wybes he opprest,<br /> +And blest be God he’s gone to rest.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>John Carnagie lies here,<br /> +Descended of Adam and Eve,<br /> +If any can gang higher<br /> +He willingly gives him leave.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This epitaph is undoubtedly that from which Prior borrowed +those beautiful and well-known lines he once intended for his own +monument.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Wha lies here?<br /> + I Johnny Dow.<br /> +Hoo! Johnny, is that you?<br /> + Ay, man, but a’m dead now.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 116--><a name="page116"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 116</span>Fifeshire.</h3> +<h4>TORRYBURN.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">On a drunken Cobbler.</p> +<blockquote><p>Enclosed within this narrow stall<br /> +Lies one who was a friend to <i>awl</i>.<br /> +He saved bad <i>soles</i> from getting worse,<br /> +But damned his own without remorse.<br /> +And tho’ a drunken life he passed,<br /> +Yet saved his <i>soul</i> by <i>mending at the last</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Forfarshire.</h3> +<h4>CUPAR.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">William Rymour.</p> +<blockquote><p>Through Christ, T’me not inferiour<br /> +To William the Conqueror.—Rom. 8, 37. (! !)</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>DUNDEE.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Walter Coupar, Tailor.</p> +<blockquote><p>Kynd commorads! here Coupar’s corpse is +laid,<br /> +Walter by name, and Tayleour to his trade,<br /> +Both kind and true, and stout and honest-hearted,<br /> +Condole with me that he so soon departed.<br /> +For, Tavou, he never weyl’d and sheer<br /> +Had better parts, nor he that’s bur’yd here.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4><!-- page 117--><a name="page117"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 117</span>DUNDEE.</h4> +<p>Three Scottish worthies were once appointed to compose an +Epitaph on a departed Provost: subjoined are the productions of +two of them, which were supposed to have been the means of +killing the third candidate in a fit of laughter.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the Provost of Dundee,<br /> +Here lies him, here lies he.<br /> +Hi-diddle-dum, Hi-diddle-dee,<br /> +A, B, C, D, E, F, G.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the body of John Watson,<br /> +Read this not with your hats on,<br /> +For why—he was Provost of Dundee,<br /> + Hallelujah, Hallelujee.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>MONTROSE.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lyes the bodeys of George Young and Isbel +Guthrie, and all their posterity for fifty years backwards.<br /> +November 1757.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Haddingtonshire.</h3> +<h4>PRESTONPANS.</h4> +<blockquote><p>William Matthison here lies,<br /> +Whose age was forty-one,<br /> +February 17, he dies,<br /> +Went Isbel Mitchell from,<br /> +Who was his married wife<br /> +The fourth part of his life.<br /> +The soul it cannot die,<br /> +<!-- page 118--><a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +118</span>Though the body be turned to clay,<br /> +Yet meet again they must<br /> +At the last day.<br /> +Trumpet shall sound, archangels cry,<br /> +“Come forth Isbel Mitchell and meet Will<br /> +Matthison in the sky.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>HADDINGTON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>If modesty commend a wife<br /> +And Providence a mother,<br /> +Grave chastity a widow’s life,<br /> +We’ll not find such another<br /> +In Haddington as Mareon Gray,<br /> +Who here doth lie till the Domesday.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Hout, Atropos, heard-hearted hag,<br /> +To cut the sheugh o’ Jamie Craig!<br /> +For had he lived a wheen mae years<br /> +He’d been o’er teugh for thy auld shears.<br /> +But now he’s gane, sae maun we a’,<br /> +Wha wres’les Death’s aye shure to fa’;<br /> +Sae let us pray that we at last<br /> +May wun frae Death a canny cast.</p> +</blockquote> +<h4>ABERLADY.</h4> +<blockquote><p> “Here lies John Smith,<br +/> + Whom Death slew, for all his pith<br /> +The starkest man in Aberlady,<br /> +God prepare and make us ready.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 119--><a name="page119"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 119</span>Lanarkshire.</h3> +<h4>GLASGOW.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Our life’s a flying shadow, God’s the +pole,<br /> +The index pointing at him is our soul;<br /> +Death’s the horizon, when our sun is set,<br /> +Which will through Christ a resurrection get.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lies Mass Andrew Gray,<br /> +Of whom ne muckle good can I say:<br /> +He was ne Quaker, for he had ne spirit,<br /> +He was ne Papist, for he had ne merit.<br /> +He was ne Turk, for he drank muckle wine,<br /> +He was ne Jew, for he eat muckle swine.<br /> +Full forty years he preach’d and le’ed,<br /> +For which God doomed him when he de’ed.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Perthshire.</h3> +<h4>DUNKELD.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">Margery Scott.</p> +<blockquote><p>Stop, passenger, until my life you read,<br /> +The living may get knowledge from the dead:<br /> +Five times five years I lived a virgin life,<br /> +Five times five years I was a virtuous wife,<br /> +Five times five years a widow, grave and chaste,<br /> +Tired of the elements, I am now at rest;<br /> +Betwixt my cradle and my grave were seen<br /> +Eight mighty kings of Scotland and a Queen;<br /> +Thrice did I see old Pulacy pulled down,<br /> +And thrice the cloak did sink beneath the gown.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><!-- page 120--><a name="page120"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 120</span>Stirlingshire.</h3> +<h4>STIRLING.</h4> +<blockquote><p>John Adamson’s here kept within,<br /> +Death’s prisoner for Adam’s sin,<br /> +But rests in hope that he shall be<br /> +Let, by the second Adam, free.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>Wigtonshire.</h3> +<h4>WIGTON.</h4> +<blockquote><p>Here lies John Taggart, of honest fame,<br /> +Of stature low, and a leg lame;<br /> +Content he was with portion small,<br /> +Kept a shop in Wigtown, and that’s all.</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><!-- page 123--><a name="page123"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 123</span>Miscellaneous.</h2> +<p>A servant maid was sent by her mistress to Ben Jonson for an +epitaph on her departed husband. She could only afford to +pay half-a-guinea, which Ben refused, saying he never wrote one +for less than double that sum; but recollecting he was going to +dine that day at a tavern, he ran down stairs and called her +back. “What was your master’s +name?”—“Jonathan Fiddle, sir.” +“When did he die?”—“June the 22nd, +sir.” Ben took a small piece of paper, and wrote with +his pencil, while standing on the stairs, the +following:—</p> +<blockquote><p>On the twenty-second of June,<br /> +Jonathan Fiddle went out of tune.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">On Shadrach +Johnson,</p> +<p>Who kept the Wheatsheaf, at Bedford, and had twenty-<br /> +four children by his first wife, and eight by his second.<br /> +Shadrach lies here; who made both sexes happy,<br /> +The women with love toys, and the men with nappy.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Cricketer.</p> +<blockquote><p>I <i>bowled</i>, I <i>struck</i>, I <i>caught</i>, +I <i>stopt</i>,<br /> + Sure life’s a game of cricket;<br /> +I <i>block’d</i> with care, with caution popp’d,<br +/> + Yet Death has hit my <i>wicket</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Puritanical Locksmith.</p> +<blockquote><p>A zealous locksmith died of late,<br /> +And did arrive at heaven gate;<br /> +He stood without and would not knock,<br /> +Because he meant to pick the lock.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 124--><a +name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>On John +Cole,<br /> +Who died suddenly, while at dinner.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies Johnny Cole,<br /> +Who died, on my soul,<br /> + After eating a plentiful dinner.<br /> +While chewing his crust,<br /> +He was turned into dust,<br /> + With his crimes undigested—poor sinner!</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Mr. Death, the Actor.</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">Death levels all, both +high and low,<br /> +Without regard to stations;<br /> +Yet why complain,<br /> +If we are slain?<br /> +For here lies one, at least, to show,<br /> +He kills his own relations.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>“The following reference to one departed Mr. Strange, of +the legal profession, is rather complimentary; and I have only to +hope that the fact of the case is as stated, and that the writer +was not led away by the obvious opportunity of making a point, to +exaggerate the virtues of the deceased. It looks a little +suspicious.” (<i>Dickens</i>).</p> +<blockquote><p>“Here lies an honest lawyer,<br /> +And that is Strange.”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>“Dr. I. Letsome wrote the following epitaph for his own +tombstone; but it is not likely that he allowed his friends, or +at least his patients, to read it until he was under the turf, or +out of practice:”—</p> +<blockquote><p>“When people’s ill, they comes to +I,<br /> + I physics, bleeds, and sweats ’em;<br /> +Sometimes they live, sometimes they die;<br /> + What’s that to I? I. +Letsome.” (<i>lets ’em</i>.)</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 125--><a +name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 125</span>On Mr. +Foot.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies one Foot, whose death may thousands +save;<br /> +For Death himself has now <i>one Foot</i> i’ th’ +grave.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Gentleman who expended his +Fortune in<br /> +Horse-racing.</p> +<blockquote><p>John ran so long, and ran so fast,<br /> +No wonder he ran out at last;<br /> +He ran in debt, and then to pay,<br /> +He distanced all—and ran away.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Miser.</p> +<blockquote><p>They call’d thee rich, I deem’d thee +poor,<br /> +Since, if thou dar’dst not use thy store,<br /> +But sav’d it only for thy heirs,<br /> +The treasure was not thine—but theirs.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>Lines written by Robert of Gloucester upon King Henry the +First, who died through over-eating of his favourite +fish:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“And when he com hom he willede of an +lampreye to ete,<br /> +Ac hys leeches hym oerbede, vor yt was feble mete,<br /> +Ac he wolde it noyt beleve, vor he lovede yt well ynow,<br /> +And ete as in better cas, vor thulke lampreye hym slow,<br /> +Vor anon rygt thereafter into anguysse he drow,<br /> +And died vor thys lampreye, thane hys owe wow.”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On John Sydney,<br /> +Who died full of the Small Pox.</p> +<blockquote><p>In this sacred urn there lies,<br /> +Till the last trump make it rise,<br /> +A light that’s wanting in the skies.<br /> +<!-- page 126--><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +126</span>A corpse inveloped with stars,<br /> +Who, though a stranger to the wars,<br /> +Was mark’d with many hundred scars.</p> +<p>Death, at once, spent all his store<br /> +Of darts, which this fair body bore,<br /> +Though fewer had kill’d many more.<br /> +For him our own salt tears we quaff,<br /> +Whose virtues shall preserve him safe,<br /> +Beyond the power of epitaph.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Upon Two Religious Disputants,<br +/> +Who are interred within a few paces of each other.</p> +<blockquote><p>Suspended here a contest see,<br /> +Of two whose creeds could ne’er agree;<br /> +For whether they would preach or pray,<br /> +They’d do it in a different way;<br /> +And they wou’d fain our fate deny’d,<br /> +In quite a different manner dy’d!<br /> +Yet, think not that their rancour’s o’er;<br /> +No! for ’tis 10 to 1, and more,<br /> +Tho’ quiet now as either lies,<br /> +But they’ve a wrangle when they rise.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a disorderly fellow, named +Chest.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies one Chest within another.<br /> + That chest was good<br /> + Which was made of wood,<br /> +But who’ll say so of t’other?</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On John Death.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies John Death, the very same<br /> +That went away with a cousin of his name.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 127--><a +name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>Lord +Coningsby. By Pope.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies Lord Coningsby—be civil;<br /> +The rest God knows—perhaps the Devil.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On General Tulley.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies General Tulley,<br /> +Aged 105 years fully;<br /> +Nine of his wives beside him doth lie,<br /> +And the tenth must lie here when she doth die.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">A Bishop’s Epitaph.</p> +<blockquote><p>In this house, which I have borrowed from my +brethren worms, lie I, Samuel, by divine permission late Bishop +of this Island, in hope of the resurrection to Eternal +life. Reader, stop! view the Lord Bishop’s palace, +and smile.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Welchman,<br /> +Killed by a Fall from his Horse.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies interr’d, beneath these stones,<br +/> +David ap-Morgan, ap-Shenkin, ap-Jones;<br /> +Hur was born in Wales, hur was travell’d in France,<br /> +And hur went to heaven—by a bad mischance.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Card Table Epitaph on a Lady, whose +Ruin and Death<br /> +were caused by gaming.</p> +<blockquote><p>Clarissa reign’d the <i>Queen</i> of +<i>Hearts</i>,<br /> + Like <i>sparkling Diamonds</i> were her eyes;<br /> +But through the <i>Knave</i> of <i>Clubs</i>, false arts,<br /> + Here bedded by a <i>Spade</i> she lies.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 128--><a name="page128"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 128</span>Reader, in that peace of earth,<br +/> +In peace rest Thomas Arrowsmith.<br /> +In peace he lived, in peace went hence,<br /> +With God & men & conscience:<br /> +Peace for other men he sought,<br /> +And peace with pieces sometimes bought.<br /> +Pacifici, may others bee,<br /> +But ex pace factro hee.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Ann Mitchell.</p> +<blockquote><p>Loe here I lye till Trumpets sound,<br /> +And Christ for me shall call;<br /> +And then I hope to rise again,<br /> + And dye no more at all.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>O Merciful Jesu that Brought<br /> + Mans Sôule from Hell;<br /> +Have Mercy of the Sôule<br /> + of Jane Bell.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a very idle Fellow.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lieth one that once was born & cried,<br +/> +Liv’d several years, & then—& then—he +died.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Great consumer of Bread, +Cheese, and Tobacco.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here gaffer B . . . Jaws are laid at Ease,<br /> +Whose Death has dropped the price of Bread & Cheese.<br /> +He Eat, he drank, he smoked, and then<br /> +He Eat, and drank, and smôked again.<br /> +So Modern Patriots, rightly understood,<br /> +Live to themselves, and die for Public Good.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 129--><a name="page129"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 129</span>Thin in beard, and thick in +purse,<br /> +Never man beloved worse;<br /> +He went to the grave with many a curse:<br /> +The devil and he had both one nurse.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>They were so one, that none could say<br /> +Which of them ruled, or whether did obey,<br /> +He ruled, because she would obey; and she,<br /> +In so obeying, ruled as well as he.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p> Good People draw near,<br /> + There is no need of a tear,<br /> +Merry L . . . is gone to his Bed;<br /> + I am placed here to tell,<br /> + Where now lies the shêll,<br /> +If he had any soûl it is fled.<br /> + Make the Bells ring aloud,<br /> + And be joyful the croud,<br /> +For Mirth was his favourite theme,<br /> + Which to Praise he turned Poet,<br /> + Its fit you should know it,<br /> +Since he has left nothing more than his name.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On an Ass (by the late late Dr. +Jenner).</p> +<blockquote><p>Beneath this hugh hillock here lies a poor +creature,<br /> +So gentle, so easy, so harmless his nature;<br /> +On earth by kind Heav’n he surely was sent,<br /> +To teach erring mortals the road to content;<br /> +Whatever befel him, he bore his hard fate,<br /> +Nor envied the steed in his high pamper’d state;<br /> +Though homely his fare was, he’d never repine;<br /> +On a dock could he breakfast, on thistles could dine;<br /> +No matter how coarse or unsavoury his salad,<br /> +Content made the flavour suit well with his palate.<br /> +Now, Reader, depart, and, as onward you pass,<br /> +Reflect on the lesson you’ve heard from an Ass.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 130--><a +name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 130</span>On a +Henpecked Country Squire.</p> +<blockquote><p>As father Adam first was fool’d,<br /> + A case that’s still too common,<br /> +Here lies a man a woman rul’d,<br /> + The devil rul’d the woman.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Potter.</p> +<blockquote><p>How frail is man—how short life’s +longest day!<br /> +Here lies the worthy Potter, turned to clay!<br /> +Whose forming hand, and whose reforming care,<br /> +Has left us full of flaws. Vile earthenware!</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>It was his usual custom in company when he told anything, to +ask, d’ye hear? and if any one said no, John would reply, +no matter, I’ve said.</p> +<blockquote><p>Death came to John<br /> +And whisper’d in his ear,<br /> +You must die John,<br /> + D’ye hear?</p> +<p>Quoth John to Death<br /> +The news is bad.<br /> +No matter, quoth Death,<br /> + I’ve said.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Punning Epitaph.</p> +<blockquote><p>Cecil Clay, the counsellor of Chesterfield, caused +this whimsical allusion or pun upon his name to be put upon his +grave-stone;—Two cyphers of C. C. and underneath,<br /> +Sum quod fui, “I am what I was.”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>Oldys thus translates from Camden an epitaph upon a tippling +red-nosed ballad maker, of the time of Shakespeare:—</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 131--><a name="page131"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 131</span>Dead drunk, here Elderton doth +lie:<br /> +Dead as he is, he still is dry;<br /> +So of him it may well be said,<br /> +Here he, but not his thirst, is laid.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Juggler.</p> +<blockquote><p>Death came to see thy tricks, and cut in twain<br +/> +Thy thread. Why did’st not make it whole again?</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">To a Magistrate’s Widow.</p> +<blockquote><p>Her husband died, and while she tried<br /> +To live behind, could not, and died.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Epitaph on the Parson of a +parish.</p> +<blockquote><p>Come let us rejoice merry boys at his fall,<br /> +For egad, had he lived he’d a buried us all.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Baker.</p> +<blockquote><p>Richard Fuller lies buried here,<br /> +Do not withhold the crystal tear,<br /> +For when he liv’d he daily fed<br /> +Woman and man and child with bread.<br /> +But now alas he’s turned to dust,<br /> +As thou and I and all soon must,<br /> +And lies beneath this turf so green,<br /> +Where worms do daily feed on him.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">An Original.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies fast asleep, awake me who can,<br /> +The medley of passion and follies, a Man<br /> +Who sometimes lov’d licence and sometimes restraint,<br /> +Too much of the sinner, too little of saint;<br /> +From quarter to quarter I shifted my tack;<br /> +Gainst the evils of life a most notable quack;<br /> +<!-- page 132--><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +132</span>But, alas! I soon found the defects of my skill,<br /> +And my nostrums in practice proved treacherous still;<br /> +From life’s certain ills ’twas in vain to seek +ease,<br /> +The remedy oft proved another disease;<br /> +What in rapture began often ended in sorrow,<br /> +And the pleasure to-day brought reflection to-morrow;<br /> +When each action was o’er and its errors were seen,<br /> +Then I viewed with surprise the strange thing I had been;<br /> +My body and mind were so oddly contrived,<br /> +That at each other’s failing both parties +conniv’d,<br /> +Imprudence of mind brought on sickness and pain,<br /> +The body diseas’d paid the debt back again.<br /> +Thus coupled together life’s journey they pass’d,<br +/> +Till they wrangled and jangled and parted at last;<br /> +Thus tired and weary, I’ve finished my course,<br /> +And glad it is bed time, and things are no worse.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Publican.</p> +<blockquote><p>Thomas Thompson’s buried here,<br /> +And what is more he’s in his bier,<br /> +In life thy bier did thee surround,<br /> +And now with thee is in the ground.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Porter, who died suddenly +under a load.</p> +<blockquote><p>Pack’d up within these dark abodes,<br /> +Lies one in life inur’d to loads,<br /> +Which oft he carried ’tis well known,<br /> +Till Death pass’d by and threw him down.</p> +<p>When he that carried loads before,<br /> +Became a load which others bore<br /> +To this his inn, where, as they say,<br /> +They leave him till another day.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 133--><a +name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 133</span>On a +Publican.</p> +<blockquote><p>A jolly landlord once was I,<br /> +And kept the Old King’s Head hard by,<br /> +Sold mead and gin, cider and beer,<br /> +And eke all other kinds of cheer,<br /> +Till death my license took away<br /> +And put me in this house of clay,<br /> +A house at which you all must call,<br /> +Sooner or later, great and small.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Parish Clerk.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies, within this tomb so calm,<br /> +Old Giles, pray sound his knell,<br /> +Who thought no song was like a psalm,<br /> +No music like a bell.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lies John Adams, who received a thump<br /> +Right in the forehead from the parish pump,<br /> +Which gave him his quietus in the end,<br /> +Tho’ many doctors did his case attend.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Mr. Cumming.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Give me the best of men,” said +Death<br /> +To Nature—“quick, no humming,”<br /> +She sought the man who lies beneath,<br /> +And answered, “Death, he’s Cumming.”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Sir Philip Sidney.</p> +<blockquote><p><i>England</i> hath his body, for she it fed,<br +/> +<i>Netherland</i> his blood, in her defence shed;<br /> +The <i>Heavens</i> hath his soul,<br /> +The <i>Arts</i> have his fame,<br /> +The <i>Soldier</i> his grief,<br /> +The <i>World</i> his good name.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p><!-- page 134--><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +134</span>There is a touching sorrow conveyed in the following +most ungrammatical verses; evidently composed by one of the +unlettered parents themselves:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Beneath this stone his own dear child,<br /> +Whose gone from we<br /> +For ever more unto eternity;<br /> +Where we do hope that we shall go to he,<br /> +But him can never more come back to we.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Chemist.</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">Here lyeth, to digest, +macerate, and amalgamate<br /> +With Clay,<br /> +In Balneo Arenæ<br /> +Stratum super Stratum,<br /> +The Residuum, Terra damnata, and Caput<br /> +Mortuum<br /> +Of Boyle Godfry, Chemist<br /> +And M.D.<br /> +A man, who in his earthly Laboratory<br /> +Pursued various Processes to obtain<br /> +Areanum Vitæ<br /> +Or the secret to live;<br /> +Also Aurum Vitæ,<br /> +Or, the art of getting, rather than making Gold.<br /> +Alchemist like,<br /> +All his Labour and Profection,<br /> +As Mercury in the Fire evaporated in Fuomo<br /> +When he dissolv’d to his first Principles,<br /> +He departed as poor<br /> +As the last Drops of an Alembic;<br /> +For riches are not poured<br /> +On the Adepts of this world.<br /> +Though fond of News, he carefully avoided<br /> +The Fermentation, Effervescence,<br /> +And Decrepitation of this Life.<br /> +<!-- page 135--><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +135</span>Full Seventy years his exalted Essence<br /> +Was Hermetically sealed in its Terene Mattras,<br /> +But the radical Moisture being exhausted,<br /> +The Elixir Vitæ spent,<br /> +And exsiccated to a Cuticle,<br /> +He could not suspend longer in his Vehicle<br /> +But precipitated Gradatim<br /> +Per Campanam.<br /> +To his Original Dust.<br /> +May that light, brighter than Bolognian<br /> +Phosphorus, Preserve him from the<br /> +Athanor, Empyremna, &<br /> +Of the other<br /> +World.<br /> +Depurate him from the Taces and Scoria of<br /> +this;<br /> +Highly Rectify’d & Volatize<br /> +His Ætheral Spirit,<br /> +Bring it over the Helm of the Retort of this<br /> +Globe, place it in a proper Recipient,<br /> +Or Chrystalline Orb,<br /> +Among the elect of the Flowers of Benjamin,<br /> +Never to be Saturated,<br /> +Till the General Resuscitation,<br /> +Deflagration, Calcination,<br /> +And Sublimation of all Things.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Mr. Partridge, who died in +May.</p> +<blockquote><p>What! kill a partridge in the month of May!<br /> +Was that done like a sportsman? Eh, Death, Eh?</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Du Bois,<br /> +Born in a Baggage Waggon, and killed in a Duel.</p> +<blockquote><p>Begot in a cart, in a cart first drew breath,<br +/> +Carte and tierce were his life, and a carte was his death.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 136--><a +name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 136</span>On Mr. +Nightingale, Architect.</p> +<blockquote><p>As the birds were the first of the architect +kind,<br /> + And are still better builders than men,<br /> +What wonders may spring from a Nightingale’s mind,<br /> + When St. Paul’s was produced by a Wren.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Mr. Churchill.</p> +<blockquote><p>Says Tom to Richard, “Churchill’s +dead.”<br /> + Says Richard, “Tom, you lie;<br /> +Old Rancour the report has spread,<br /> + But Genius cannot die.”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Foote, the Mimic and +Dramatist,<br /> +Who, several years before his death, lost one of his<br /> +nether limbs.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here a pickled rogue lies whom we could not +preserve,<br /> + Though his pickle was true Attic salt;<br /> +One Foote was his name, and one leg did him serve,<br /> + Though his wit was known never to halt.<br /> +A most precious limb and a rare precious pate,<br /> + With one limb taken off for wise ends;<br /> +Yet the hobbler, in spite of the hitch in his gait,<br /> + Never failed to take off his best friends:<br /> +Taking off friends and foes, both in manner and voice,<br /> + Was his practice for pastime or pelf;<br /> +For which ’twere no wonder, if both should rejoice<br /> + At the day when he took off himself.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On James Straw, an Attorney.</p> +<blockquote><p>Hic jacet Jacobus Straw,<br /> +Who forty years, Sir, followed the law,<br /> + And when he died,<br /> + The Devil cried,<br /> + “Jemmy, gie’s your paw.”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 137--><a +name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>On Robert +Sleath.</p> +<p>Who kept the turnpike at Worcester, and was noted for having +once demanded toll of George III., when his Majesty was going on +a visit to Bishop Hurd.</p> +<blockquote><p>On Wednesday last, old Robert Sleath<br /> +Passed through the turnpike gate of death.<br /> +To him would death no toll abate,<br /> +Who stopped the King at Wor’ster gate.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Ned Purdon.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery free<br /> + Who long was a bookseller’s hack.<br /> +He led such a damnable life in this world<br /> + I don’t think he’ll ever come back.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Stephen Remnant.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here’s a Remnant of life, and a Remnant of +death,<br /> +Taken off both at once in a Remnant of breath.<br /> +To mortality this gives a happy release,<br /> +For what was the Remnant, proves now the whole piece.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>A form of enigmatical epitaph is in Llandham Churchyard, +Anglesea, and has been frequently printed. From the +<i>Cambrian Register</i>, 1795 (Vol. I. p. 441), I learn that it +was translated by Jo. Pulestone, Feb. 5, 1666. The subject +of it was Eva, daughter of Meredidd ap Rees ap Howel, of Bodowyr, +and written by Arthur Kynaston, of Pont y Byrsley, son of Francis +Kynaston.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lyes, by name, the world’s mother,<br +/> +By nature, my aunt, sister to my mother;<br /> +My grandmother, mother to my mother;<br /> +My great grandmother, mother to my grandmother;<br /> +My grandfather’s daughter and his mother;<br /> +All which may rightly be,<br /> +Without the breach of consanguinity.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 138--><a +name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 138</span>On Robert +Pemberton.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies <i>Robin</i>, but not <i>Robin +Hood</i>;<br /> +Here lies <i>Robin</i> that never did good;<br /> +Here lies <i>Robin</i> by heaven forsak’n;<br /> +Here lies <i>Robin</i>—the devil may tak’n.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Stay Maker.</p> +<blockquote><p>Alive, unnumber’d stays he made,<br /> + (He work’d industrious night and day;)<br /> +E’en dead he still pursues his trade,<br /> + For here <i>his bones will make a stay</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Brevity of life.</p> +<blockquote><p>Man’s life’s a vapour,<br /> + And full of woes;<br /> +He cuts a caper,<br /> + And down he goes.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">By Boileau, the Poet.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies my wife, and Heaven knows,<br /> +Not less for mine, than her repose!</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lies poor Thomas, and his Wife,<br /> +Who led a pretty jarring life;<br /> +But all is ended—do you see?<br /> +He holds his tongue, and so does she.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>If drugs and physic could but save<br /> +Us mortals from the dreary grave,<br /> +’Tis known that I took full enough<br /> +Of the apothecaries’ stuff<br /> +<!-- page 139--><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +139</span>To have prolonged life’s busy feast<br /> +To a full century at least;<br /> +But spite of all the doctors’ skill,<br /> +Of daily draught and nightly pill,<br /> +Reader, as sure as you’re alive,<br /> +I was sent here at twenty-five.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Poor Jerry’s Epitaph.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies poor Jerry,<br /> +Who always seem’d merry,<br /> + But happiness needed.<br /> +He tried all he could<br /> +To be something good,<br /> + But never succeeded.<br /> +He married two wives:<br /> +The first good, but somewhat quaint;<br /> +The second very good—like a saint.<br /> + In peace may they rest.<br /> +And when they come to heaven,<br /> +May they all be forgiven<br /> + For marrying such a pest.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On three infants.</p> +<blockquote><p>If you’re disposed to weep for sinners +dead,<br /> +About these children trouble not your head,<br /> +Reserve your grief for them of riper years,<br /> +They as has never sinned can’t want no tears.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Drunkard.</p> +<blockquote><p>The draught is drunk, poor Tip is dead.<br /> +He’s top’d his last and reeled to bed.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 140--><a +name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 140</span>On a Rum +and Milk Drinker.</p> +<blockquote><p>Rum and milk I had in store,<br /> +Till my poor belly could hold no more:<br /> +It caused me to be so fat,<br /> +My death was owing unto that.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Joseph Crump, a Musician.</p> +<blockquote><p>Once ruddy and plump,<br /> +But now a pale lump,<br /> +Beneath this safe hump,<br /> +Lies honest Joe Crump,<br /> + Who wish’d to his neighbours no evil,<br /> +Who, tho’ by Death’s thump<br /> +He’s laid on his rump,<br /> +Yet up he shall jump<br /> +When he hears the last trump,<br /> + And triumph o’er Death and the Devil.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Sir Isaac Newton.</p> +<blockquote><p>Nature and Nature’s laws lay hid in +night,<br /> +God said, “Let Newton be!” and all was light.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">An Attorney.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lieth one who often lied before,<br /> +But now he lies here he lies no more.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Peter Wilson,<br /> +Who was drowned.</p> +<blockquote><p>Peter was in the ocean drown’d,<br /> + A careless, hapless creature!<br /> +And when his lifeless trunk was found,<br /> + It was become Salt Peter.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 141--><a name="page141"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 141</span>Here lies the body of an honest +man.<br /> +And when he died he owed nobody nothing.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Good Friend for Jesus SAKE forbeare<br /> +To diGG T--E Dust encloAsed HERE.<br /> +Blest be T--E Man Y--T spares T--Es Stones<br /> +And curst be He Y--T moves my Bones.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Underneath this stone doth lie,<br /> +As much beauty as could die;<br /> +Which, when alive, did vigour give<br /> +To as much beauty as could live.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">To the memory of Mary Clow, +&c.</p> +<blockquote><p>A vertuous wife, a loving mother,<br /> +And one esteemed by all that knew her.</p> +<p>And to be short, to her praise, she was the woman that Solomon +speaks of in the xxxi. chapter of the book of Proverbs, from the +10th verse to the end.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Old Epitaph.</p> +<blockquote><p>As I was so are ye,<br /> +As I am You shall be,<br /> +That I had that I gave,<br /> +That I gave that I have,<br /> +Thus I end all my cost,<br /> +That I left that I lost.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Epitaph on a Bell Ringer.</p> +<blockquote><p>Stephen & time now are even,<br /> +Stephen beat time, now time’s beat Stephen.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 142--><a +name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 142</span>Here +lies<br /> +Elizabeth Wise.<br /> +She died of Thunder sent from Heaven<br /> +In 1777.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Family cutt off by the Small +Pox.</p> +<blockquote><p>At once depriv’d of life, lies here,<br /> +A family to virtue dear.<br /> +Though far remov’d from regal state,<br /> +Their virtues made them truly great.<br /> +Lest one should feel the other’s fall,<br /> +Death has, in kindness, seiz’d them all.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>George Hardinge much indulged himself in versifying, and a +curious instance in illustration occurred at Presteigne, in the +spring of 1816, a few hours before his decease. An +application was made by Messrs. Tippens, addressed to the judge +“if living, or his executors,” for the payment of a +bill. The answer was penned by the Judge only three hours +prior to his death, and was as follows:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Dear Messrs. Tippens, what is fear’d +by you,<br /> +Alas! the melancholy circumstance is true,<br /> +That I am dead; and, more afflicting still,<br /> +My legal assets cannot pay your bill.<br /> +To think of this, I am almost broken hearted,<br /> +Insolvent I, this earthly life departed;<br /> +Dear Messrs. T., I am yours without a farthing,<br /> +For executors and self,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">George Hardinge.”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>The manner of her death was thus,<br /> +She was druv over by a Bus.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 143--><a name="page143"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 143</span>Here lies Martha wife of Hugh,<br /> +Born at S<sup>t</sup> Ansell’s, buried at Kew,<br /> +Children in wedlock they had five,<br /> +Three are dead & two are alive,<br /> +Those who are living had much rather<br /> +Die with the Mother than live with the Father.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">“The Body<br /> +of<br /> +<span class="smcap">Benjamin Franklin</span>, Printer,<br /> +(like the cover of an old book,<br /> +its contents torn out,<br /> +and stripped of its lettering and gilding),<br /> +lies here, food for worms;<br /> +yet the work itself shall not be lost;<br /> +for it will, as he believed, appear once more<br /> +in a new and more beautiful edition,<br /> +corrected and amended<br /> +by<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Author</span>!”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Singular Epitaph.</p> +<blockquote><p>Careless and thoughtless all my life,<br /> +Stranger to every source of strife,<br /> +And deeming each grave sage a fool,<br /> +The law of nature was my rule.<br /> +By which I learnt to duly measure<br /> +My portion of desire and pleasure.<br /> +’Tis strange that here I lie you see,<br /> +For death must have indulged a whim,<br /> +At any time t’ have thought of me,<br /> +Who never once did think of him.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 144--><a +name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 144</span>On Earle +the boxer.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies James Earle the Pugilist, who on the +11<sup>th</sup> of April 1788 gave in.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>She lived genteely on a small income.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Epitaph on a Gamester.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies a gamester, poor but willing,<br /> +Who left the room without a shilling,<br /> +Losing each stake, till he had thrown<br /> +His last, and lost the game to Death;<br /> +If Paradise his soul has won,<br /> +’Twas a rare stroke of luck i’faith!</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On the death of Miss Eliza More, +aged 14 years.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies who never lied before,<br /> +And one who never will lie More,<br /> +To which there need be no more said,<br /> +Than More the pity she is dead,<br /> +For when alive she charmed us More<br /> +Than all the Mores just gone before.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Wife (by her Husband.)</p> +<blockquote><p>Beneath this stone lies Katherine, my wife,<br /> +In death my comfort, and my plague through life.<br /> +Oh! liberty—but soft, I must not boast;<br /> +She’ll haunt me else, by jingo, with her ghost!</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>“Here is a gentlewoman, who, if I may so speak of a +gentlewoman departed, appears to have thought by no means small +beer of herself:”—</p> +<blockquote><p>A good mother I have been,<br /> +Many troubles I have seen,<br /> +All my life I’ve done my best,<br /> +And so I hope my soul’s at rest.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p><!-- page 145--><a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +145</span>On the death of a most amiable and beautiful young +lady, of the name of Peach.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by mr. +bisset</span>.</p> +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Death</span> long had +wish’d within his reach,<br /> +So sweet, so delicate a <span class="smcap">Peach</span>:<br /> +He struck the Tree—the trunk lay mute;<br /> +But <i>Angels</i> bore away the <i>Fruit</i>!</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lies my poor wife,<br /> +Without bed or blanket,<br /> +But dead as a door nail,<br /> +God be thanked.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Epitaph on a violent Scold.</p> +<blockquote><p>My spouse and I full many a year<br /> +Liv’d man and wife together,<br /> +I could no longer keep her here,<br /> +She’s gone—the Lord knows whither.</p> +<p>Of tongue she was exceeding free,<br /> +I purpose not to flatter,<br /> +Of all the wives I e’er did see,<br /> +None sure like her could chatter.</p> +<p>Her body is disposed of well,<br /> +A comely grave doth hide her,<br /> +I’m sure her soul is not in hell,<br /> +For old Nick could ne’er abide her.</p> +<p>Which makes me guess she’s gone aloft,<br /> +For in the last great thunder,<br /> +Methought I heard her well known voice<br /> +Rending the skies asunder.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 146--><a +name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>On a +Scolding Wife who died in her sleep.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the quintessence of noise and strife,<br +/> +Or, in one word, here lies a <i>scolding wife</i>;<br /> +Had not Death took her when her mouth was shut,<br /> +He durst not for his ears have touched the <i>slut</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lies my wife a sad slattern and shrew,<br /> +If I said I regretted her—I should lie too.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Scold.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies, thank God, a woman who<br /> +Quarrell’d and stormed her whole life through,<br /> +Tread gently o’er her mould’ring form,<br /> +Or else you’ll raise another storm.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Wife (by her Husband).</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies my poor wife, much lamented,<br /> +She’s happy, and I’m contented.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>One was our thought, One life we fought,<br /> + One rest we both intended,<br /> +Our bodies have to sleepe one grave,<br /> + Our soules to God ascended.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Conjugal Epitaph.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here rest my spouse, no pair through life,<br /> +So equal liv’d as we did;<br /> +Alike we shared perpetual strife,<br /> +Nor knew I rest till she did.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 147--><a +name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>An Epitaph +upon a Scolding Woman.<br /> +Another version.<br /> +(From an old Book of Job.)</p> +<blockquote><p>We lived one and twenty yeare,<br /> + Like man and wife together;<br /> +I could no longer have her heere,<br /> + She’s gone, I know not whither.<br /> +If I could guesse, I doe professe,<br /> + (I speak it not to flatter)<br /> +Of all the women in the worlde,<br /> + I never would come at her.<br /> +Her body is bestowed well,<br /> + A handsome grave doth hide her,<br /> +And sure her soule is not in hell,<br /> + The fiend could ne’er abide her.<br /> +I think she mounted up on hie,<br /> + For in the last great thunder,<br /> +Mee thought I heard her voice on hie,<br /> + Rending the clouds in sunder.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Within this place a vertvous virgin lies,<br /> +Much like those virgins that were counted wise,<br /> +Her lamp of life by Death being now pvt ovt,<br /> +Her lamp of grace doth still shine rovnd abovt,<br /> +And thovgh her body here doth sleep in clay,<br /> +Yet is her sovl still watchfvl for that day,<br /> +When Christ the Bridegroom of her sovl shall come,<br /> +To take her with him to the wedding roome.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Amy Mitchell,<br /> +1724 aged 19.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies a virgin cropt in youth,<br /> +A Xtian both in name and truth,<br /> +Forbear to mourn, she is not dead,<br /> +But gone to marry Christ her head.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 148--><a +name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 148</span>On a Woman +who had three Husbands.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the body of Mary Sextone,<br /> +Who pleased three men, and never vexed one,<br /> +That she can’t say beneath the next stone.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Marianne S--.</p> +<blockquote><p>Conjuge (i?) nunquam satis plorandæ<br /> +Inane hoc, tamen ultimum,<br /> +Amoris consecrat testimonium,<br /> +Maritus, heu! superstes.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The above Epitaph, inscribed on a plain marble tablet in a +village church near Bath, is one of the few in which the Latin +language has been employed with the brief and profound pathos of +ancient sepulchral inscriptions.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Short was her life,<br /> +Longer will be her rest;<br /> +Christ call’d her home,<br /> +Because he thought it best.</p> +<p>For she was born to die,<br /> +To lay her body down,<br /> +And young she did fly,<br /> +Into the world unknown.</p> +<p> 5 years & 9 +months.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lies my wife in earthly mould,<br /> +Who when she lived did naught but scold.<br /> +Peace! wake her not for now she’s still,<br /> +She <i>had</i>, but now <i>I</i> have my will.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p><!-- page 149--><a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +149</span>Epitaph written by Sarah Dobson, wife of John Dobson, +to be put on her tombstone after her decease:—</p> +<blockquote><p>I now have fallen asleep—my troubles +gone,<br /> +For while on earth, I had full many a one,<br /> +When I get up again—as Parson says,<br /> +I hope that I shall see some better days.<br /> +If Husband he should make a second suit<br /> +His second wife will find that he’s a <i>brute</i>.<br /> +He often made my poor sad heart to sigh,<br /> +And often made me weep from <i>one poor eye</i>,<br /> +The other he knocked out by a violent blow,<br /> +As all my Kinsfolk and my Neighbours know.<br /> +I hope he will not serve his next rib so,<br /> +But if he should, will put the two together,<br /> +And through them stare while Satan tans his leather.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Jemmy Jewell.</p> +<blockquote><p>’Tis odd, quite odd, that I should laugh,<br +/> +When I’m to write an epitaph.<br /> +Here lies the bones of a rakish <i>Timmy</i><br /> +Who was a <i>Jewell</i> & a <i>Jemmy</i>.</p> +<p>He dealt in diamonds, garnets, rings,<br /> +And twice ten thousand pretty things;<br /> +Now he supplies Old <i>Nick</i> with fuel,<br /> +And there’s an end of <i>Jemmy Jewell</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Thomas Knowles & his +Wife.</p> +<blockquote><p>Thomas Knolles lies under this stone,<br /> +And his wife Isabell: flesh and bone<br /> +They were together nineteen year,<br /> +And ten children they had in fear.<br /> +His fader & he to this church<br /> +Many good deed they did worch.<br /> +Example by him may ye see,<br /> +That this world is but vanity;<br /> +<!-- page 150--><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +150</span>For whether he be small or great,<br /> +All shall turn to worms’ meat;<br /> +This said Thomas was lay’d on beere,<br /> +The eighth day the month Fevree,<br /> +The date of Jesu Christ truly,<br /> +Anno M.C.C.C. five & forty.<br /> +We may not pray; heartily pray he,<br /> +For our souls, Pater Noster and Ave.<br /> +The swarer of our pains lissed to be,<br /> +Grant us thy holy trinity. Amen.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>On one stone, exhibiting a copy of that <span +class="smcap">very rare</span> inscription beginning with +“Afflictions sore,” the second line affords the +following choice specimen of orthography:—“Physicians +are in vain.”</p> +<blockquote><p>Think nothing strange,<br /> + Chance happens unto all;<br /> +My lot’s to-day,<br /> + To-morrow yours may fall.<br /> +Great afflictions I have had,<br /> + Which wore my strength away;<br /> +Then I was willing to submit<br /> + Unto this bed of clay.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Burbridge, the Tragedian.</p> +<blockquote><p>Exit Burbridge.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On the late Mr. Suett.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies to mix with kindred earth,<br /> +A child of wit, of Glee and Mirth;<br /> +Hush’d are those powers which gave delight;<br /> +And made us laugh in reason’s spite:<br /> +Thy “gibes and jests shall now no more<br /> +Set all the rabble in a roar.”<br /> +<!-- page 151--><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +151</span>Sons of Mirth, and Humour come,<br /> +And drop a tear on Suett’s Tomb;<br /> +Nor ye alone, but all who view it,<br /> +Weep and Exclaim, Alas Poor Suett.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On the Tomb of a Murdered Man.</p> +<blockquote><p>O holy Jove! my murderers, may they die<br /> +A death like mine—my buriers live in joy!</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Magistrate who had formerly +been a Barber.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies Justice;—be this his truest +praise:<br /> + He wore the wig which once he made,<br /> +And learnt to shave both ways.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">To the Memory of Nell +Batchelour,<br /> +The Oxford Pye-woman.</p> +<blockquote><p> Here into the dust,<br /> + The mouldering crust<br /> +Of Eleanor Batchelour’s shoven;<br /> + Well versed in the arts<br /> + Of pyes, custards, and tarts,<br /> +And the lucrative skill of the oven.<br /> + When she’d lived long enough<br /> + She made her last puff—<br /> +A puff by her husband much praised;<br /> + Now here she does lie,<br /> + And makes a dirt-pye,<br /> +In hopes that her crust may be raised.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Volunteer.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the gallant Capt<sup>n</sup> King,<br /> + He’s finished Life’s review;<br /> +No more he’ll stand on either wing,<br /> + For now he flies on two.</p> +<p><!-- page 152--><a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +152</span>He was a gallant Volunteer,<br /> + But now his Rifle’s rusty;<br /> +No more at drill will he appear,<br /> + His uniform is dusty.</p> +<p>No more he’ll hear the Bugle’s sound<br /> + Till Bugler Angels blow it,<br /> +Nor briskly march along the ground,<br /> + His body lies below it.</p> +<p>Let’s hope when at the great parade<br /> + We all meet in a cluster,<br /> +With many another martial blade<br /> + He’ll readily pass muster.</p> +<p>Seraphic sabre in his fist,<br /> + On heavenly drill reflective,<br /> +May he be placed upon the list,<br /> + Eternally effective.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Sailor.<br /> +Written by his messmate.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here is honest Jack—to the lobsters a +prey,<br /> +Who lived like a sailor free hearty and gay,<br /> +His riggings well fitted, his sides close and tight,<br /> +His bread room well furnished, his mainmast upright;<br /> +When Death, like a pirate built solely for plunder,<br /> +Thus hail’d Jack in a voice loud as thunder,<br /> +“Drop your peak my old boy, and your topsails throw +back!<br /> +For already too long you’ve remain’d on that +tack.”<br /> +Jack heard the dread call, and without more ado,<br /> +His sails flatten’d in and his bark she broach’d +to.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Laconic Epitaph.</p> +<blockquote><p>Snug.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 153--><a +name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>On a +Seaman.</p> +<blockquote><p>My watch perform’d, lo here at rest I +lay,<br /> +Not to turn out till resurrection day.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Laconic Epitaph on a Sailor.</p> +<blockquote><p>I caught a feaver—weather plaguey hot,<br /> +Was boarded by a Leech—and now am gone to pot.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On an honest Sailor.</p> +<blockquote><p>Whether sailor or not, for a moment avast;<br /> +Poor Tom’s mizen topsail is laid to the mast;<br /> +He’ll never turn out, or more heave the lead;<br /> +He’s now all aback, nor will sails shoot ahead;<br /> +He ever was brisk, &, though now gone to wreck,<br /> +When he hears the last whistle he’ll jump upon deck.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Epitaph on a Sailor.</p> +<blockquote><p>Tom Taugh lies below, as gallant arous.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Man who was killed by a blow +from a Sky Rocket.</p> +<blockquote><p> Here I lie,<br /> +Killed by a Sky<br /> +Rocket in my eye.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Post Boy, who was killed by +the overturning of a Chaise.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here I lays,<br /> +Killed by a Chaise.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lies I no wonder I’se dead,<br /> +For a broad wheeled Waggon went over my head</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 154--><a +name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span>On a +Miser.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies one for medicine would not give<br /> + A little gold, and so his life he lost;<br /> +I fancy now he’d wish to live again,<br /> + Could he but know how much his funeral cost.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Miser.</p> +<blockquote><p>Iron was his chest,<br /> + Iron was his door,<br /> +His hand was iron,<br /> + And his heart was more.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Miser.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies old father GRIPE, who never cried +“<i>Jam satis</i>;”<br /> +’Twould wake him did he know, you read his tombstone +gratis.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On an Old Covetous Usurer.</p> +<blockquote><p>You’d have me say, here lies T. U.<br /> + But I do not believe it;<br /> +For after Death there’s something due,<br /> + And he’s gone to receive it.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On an Usurer.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies ten in the hundred<br /> + In the ground fast ram’d,<br /> +’Tis an hundred to ten,<br /> + But his soul is damned.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Epitaph on the grave of a Smuggler +killed in a fight with Revenue Officers.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here I lies<br /> +Killed by the XII.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 155--><a +name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>On a +Miser.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies one who lived unloved, and died +unlamented; who denied plenty to himself, and assistance to his +friends, and relief to the poor; who starved his family, +oppressed his neighbours, and plagued himself to gain what he +could not enjoy; at last Death, more merciful to him than he was +to himself, released him from care, and his family from want; and +here he lies with the grovelling worm, and with the dirt he +loved, in fear of a resurrection, lest his heirs should have +spent the money he left behind, having laid up no treasure where +moth and rust do not corrupt, nor thieves break through and +steal.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On John D’Amory, the +Usurer.</p> +<blockquote><p>Beneath this verdant hillock lies<br /> +Demar the wealthy and wise.<br /> +His Heirs, that he might safely rest,<br /> +Have put his carcase in a Chest.<br /> +The very Chest, in which, they say<br /> +His other Self, his Money, lay.<br /> +And if his Heirs continue kind<br /> +To that dear Self he left behind,<br /> +I dare believe that Four in Five<br /> +Will think his better self alive.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On William Clay.</p> +<blockquote><p>A long affliction did my life attend,<br /> +But time with patience brought it to an end,<br /> +And now my body rests with Mother clay,<br /> +Until the joyful resurrection day.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Written on Montmaur,<br /> +A man of excellent memory, but deficient in judgment.</p> +<blockquote><p>In this black surtout reposes sweetly, Montmaur +of<br /> +happy memory, <i>awaiting his judgement</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 156--><a +name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 156</span>On an +Invalid.<br /> +Written by Himself.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies a head that often ached;<br /> +Here lie two hands that always shak’d;<br /> +Here lies a brain of odd conceit;<br /> +Here lies a heart that often beat;<br /> +Here lie two eyes that dimly wept,<br /> +And in the night but seldom slept;<br /> +Here lies a tongue that whining talk’d;—<br /> +Here lie two feet that feebly walked;<br /> +Here lie the midriff and the breast,<br /> +With loads of indigestion prest;<br /> +Here lives the liver full of bile,<br /> +That ne’er secreted proper chyle;<br /> +Here lie the bowels, human tripes,<br /> +Tortured with wind and twisting gripes;<br /> +Here lies the livid dab, the spleen,<br /> +The source of life’s sad tragic scene,<br /> +That left side weight that clogs the blood,<br /> +And stagnates Nature’s circling flood;<br /> +Here lies the back, oft racked with pains,<br /> +Corroding kidneys, loins, and reins;<br /> +Here lies the skin by scurvy fed,<br /> +With pimples and irruptions red;<br /> +Here lies the man from top to toe,<br /> +That fabric fram’d for pain and woe.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Sir John Vanbrugh.</p> +<blockquote><p>Lie heavy on him, earth! for he<br /> +Laid many heavy loads on thee.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>The following Epitaph was written by Shakespeare on Mr. Combe, +an old gentleman noted for his wealth and usury:—</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 157--><a name="page157"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 157</span>“<i>Ten in the hundred</i> +lies here ingraved:<br /> +’Tis a hundred to ten his soul is not saved:<br /> +If any man ask, Who lies in this tomb?<br /> +Oh! oh! <span class="smcap">quoth the devil</span>, <span +class="smcap">’tis my John-a-Combe</span>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Dr. Fuller.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies <i>Fuller’s</i> earth.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Card-maker.</p> +<blockquote><p>His card is cut; long days he shuffled through<br +/> +The game of Life; he dealt as others do.<br /> +Though he by honours tells not its amount,<br /> +When the last trump is played his tricks will count.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Man and his Wife.</p> +<blockquote><p>Stay, bachelor, if you have wit,<br /> +A wonder to behold:<br /> +Husband and wife, in one dark pit,<br /> +Lie still and never scold.</p> +<p>Tread softly tho’ for fear she wakes;—<br /> +Hark, she begins already:<br /> +You’ve hurt my head;—my shoulder akes;<br /> +These sots can ne’er move steady.</p> +<p>Ah friend, with happy freedom blest!<br /> +See how my hopes miscarry’d:<br /> +Not death can give me rest,<br /> +Unless you die unmarry’d.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lie the remains of Thomas Woodhen,<br /> +The most amiable of Husbands, and the most excellent of men.</p> +<p>“<i>N.B.</i>—The name is Woodcock, but it +would’nt come in rhyme!”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 158--><a +name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 158</span>On Marshal +Sare.</p> +<p>N.B.—The figures are to be pronounced in French as un, +deux, trois, etc.</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p>Ses vertus le feront admiré de chac</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Il avait des Rivaux, mais il triompha</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Les Batailles qu’il gagna sont au nombre de</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Pour Louis son grand cœur se serait mis en</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">4</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>En amour, c’était peu pour lui d’aller +à</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">5</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Nous l’aurions s’il n’eut fait que le +berger Tir’</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">6</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Pour avoir trop souvent passé douze +“Hie-ja”</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">7</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Il a cessé de vivre en Decembre</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">8</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Strasbourg contient son corps dans un Tombeau tout</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">9</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Pour tant de “Te Deum” pas un “De +profun”</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">10</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">---</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> He died at the age +of</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">55</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p><i>a</i>. Tircis, the name of a celebrated Arcadian +shepherd.</p> +<p><i>b</i>. A great personage of the day remarked that it +was a pity after the Marshal had by his victories been the cause +of so many “Te Deums,” that it would not be allowed +(the Marshal dying in the Lutheran faith) to chant one “de +profundis,” over his remains.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Thomas Jones.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here for the nonce,<br /> +Came <i>Thomas Jones</i>,<br /> +In St. Giles’s Church to lye;<br /> +Non Welch before,<br /> +None Welchman more,<br /> +Till Show Clerk dy.</p> +<p>He tole his bell,<br /> +He ring his knell.<br /> +He dyed well,<br /> +He’s sav’d from hell,<br /> +And so farewell,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Tom Jones.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p><!-- page 159--><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +159</span>On Dr. Walker, who wrote a book called +“Particles:”—</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lie Walker’s Particles.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">The tomb of Keats the +Poet.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">This grave contains<br /> +all<br /> +that was mortal<br /> +of a<br /> +young English Poet,<br /> +who<br /> +on his death bed,<br /> +in the bitterness of his heart<br /> +at the malicious power of his enemies,<br /> +desired these<br /> +words to be engraved on his tombstone:<br /> +“Here lies one<br /> +whose name was writ in water.”<br /> +February 24, 1821.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Mr. Quin.</p> +<blockquote><p>Says Epicure Quin, Should the devil in hell,<br /> +In fishing for men take delight,<br /> +His hook bait with ven’son, I love it so well,<br /> +Indeed I am sure I should bite.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lies Sir John Plumpudding of the Grange,<br +/> +Who hanged himself one morning for a change.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>On John Bell.</p> +<blockquote><p>I Jocky Bell o’ Braikenbrow, lyes under this +stane,<br /> +Five of my awn sons laid it on my wame;<br /> +I liv’d aw my dayes, but sturt or strife,<br /> +Was man o’ my meat, and master o’ my wife.<br /> +If you done better in your time, than I did in mine,<br /> +Take this stane aff my wame, and lay it on o’ thine.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 160--><a +name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 160</span>On Mr. +Havard, Comedian.</p> +<blockquote><p>“An honest man’s the noblest work of +God.”</p> +<p>Havard from sorrow rest beneath this stone;<br /> +An honest man—beloved as soon as known;<br /> +However defective in the mimic art,<br /> +In real life he justly played his part!<br /> +The noblest character he acted well,<br /> +And heaven applauded when the curtain fell.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Robin Masters, Undertaker.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lieth Robin Masters—Faith ’twas +hard<br /> + To take away our honest Robin’s breath;<br /> +Yet surely Robin was full well prepared,<br /> + Robin was always looking out for death.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On an Undertaker.</p> +<blockquote><p>Subdued by death, here death’s great herald +lies,<br /> +And adds a trophy to his victories;<br /> +Yet sure he was prepared, who, while he’d breath,<br /> +Made it his business to look for death.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Cobler.</p> +<blockquote><p>Death at a cobler’s door oft made a +stand,<br /> +And always found him on the mending hand;<br /> +At last came Death, in very dirty weather,<br /> +And ripp’d the sole from off the upper leather.<br /> +Death put a trick upon him, and what was’t?<br /> +The cobler called for’s awl, Death brought his last.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 161--><a +name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 161</span>On a +Dustman.</p> +<blockquote><p>Beneath yon humble clod, at rest<br /> +Lies Andrew, who, if not the best,<br /> + Was not the very worst man;<br /> +A little rakish, apt to roam;<br /> +But not so now, he’s quite at home,<br /> + For Andrew was a <i>Dustman</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the body of John Cole,<br /> +His master loved him like his soul;<br /> +He could rake hay—none could rake faster,<br /> +Except that raking dog, his master.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Mr. Langford, Auctioneer.</p> +<blockquote><p>So, so, Master Langford, the hammer of Death<br /> +Hath knock’d out your brains, and deprived you of +breath;<br /> +’Tis but tit for tat, he who puts up the town,<br /> +By Devil or Death must at last be knock’d down.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a man named Stone.</p> +<blockquote><p>Jerusalem’s curse was not fulfilled in +me,<br /> +For here a stone upon a Stone you see.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On Thomas Day.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies Thomas Day,<br /> +Lately removed from over the way.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Epitaph by Burns.<br /> +(On a man choked by a piece of bread!)</p> +<blockquote><p>Here I lie, killed by a crumb,<br /> +That wouldn’t go down, nor wouldn’t up come.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 162--><a +name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 162</span>On John +Treffry, Esq.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here in this Chancel do I lye,<br /> +Known by the name of John Treffry.<br /> +Being born & made for to die;<br /> +So must thou, friend, as well as I.<br /> +Therefore good works be sure to try,<br /> +But chiefly love & Charity;<br /> +And still on them with faith rely,<br /> +To be happy eternally.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This was put up during his life, who was a whimsical +man. He had his grave dug, & lay down and swore in it, +to show the sexton a novelty, <i>i.e.</i>, a man swearing in his +grave.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On -- Hatt.</p> +<blockquote><p>By Death’s impartial scythe was mown<br /> +Poor Hatt—he lies beneath this stone;<br /> +On him misfortune oft did frown,<br /> +Yet Hatt ne’er wanted for a crown;<br /> +When many years of constant wear<br /> +Had made his beaver somewhat bare,<br /> +Death saw, and pitying his mishap,<br /> +Has given him here a good long nap.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here I, Thomas Wharton, do lie,<br /> + With Lucifer under my head,<br /> +And Nelly my wife hard bye,<br /> + And Nancy as cold as lead.</p> +<p>O, how can I speak without dread<br /> + Who could my sad fortune abide?<br /> +With one devil under my head,<br /> + And another laid close on each side.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 163--><a +name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 163</span>On William +Jones, a Bone Collector</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lie the bones of William Jones,<br /> +Who when alive collected bones,<br /> +But Death, that grisly bony spectre,<br /> +That most amazing bone collector,<br /> +Has boned poor Jones so snug and tidy,<br /> +That here he lies in bonâ fide.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">The late Rev. John +Sampson, of Kendal.<br /> + Sacrum</p> +<p>In memoriam viri doctissimi et clerici, Joannis Sampson,<br /> + olim hujusce sacelli ministri, itemque ludi +literarii apud<br /> + Congalum triginta septem ferè annos magistri +seduli;<br /> + hoc marmor ponendum quidam discipulus +præceptorem<br /> + merens curavit.<br /> +Ob: An: ætatis suæ LXXVII; A.D. MDCCCXLIII.<br /> +Foris juxta januam e dextrâ introeunti sepultum est<br /> + corpus.<br /> +Problemata plurima geometrica proposuit ac solvit; ad<br /> + hæc accedunt versus haud pauci, latinè +et manu suâ<br /> + scripti; quorum exemplum infrà insculptum +est; adeo<br /> + ut Christiano tum mentem, tum viri fidem +cognoscere<br /> + liceat.</p> +<p style="text-align: +center">“αὐτòς +ἔφη.”</p> +<p> “Quandocunque sophos clarus sua +dogmata profert,<br /> + “Nil valet +αὐτòς ἔφη, ni +documenta daret;”<br /> + “At mihi cùm Christus loquitur, verum, +via, vita,<br /> + “Tum vero fateor sufficit +αὐτòς ἔφη.”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>Epitaph on the Mareschal Comte de Ranzan, a Swede, who +accompanied Oxenstiern to Paris, and was taken into the French +service by Louis XIII. He died of hydrophobia in +1650. He had been in innumerable battles, had lost an eye +and two limbs, and his body was found to be entirely covered with +scars.</p> +<blockquote><p>Stop, passenger! this stone below<br /> +Lies half the body of Ranzan:<br /> +<!-- page 164--><a name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +164</span>The other moiety’s scattered far<br /> +And wide o’er many a field of war;<br /> +For to no land the hero came,<br /> +On which he shed not blood and fame.<br /> +Mangled or maim’d each meaner part,<br /> +One thing remain’d entire—his heart.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">At Arlington, near Paris.</p> + +<blockquote><p> Here +lie<br /> +Two grandmothers, with their two granddaughters<br /> +Two husbands with their two wives,<br /> +Two fathers with their two daughters,<br /> +Two mothers with their two sons,<br /> +Two maidens with their two mothers,<br /> +Two sisters with their two brothers.<br /> +Yet but six corps in all lie buried here,<br /> +All born legitimate, & from incest clear.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The above may be thus explained:—</p> +<p>Two widows, that were sisters-in-law, had each a son, who +married each other’s mother, and by them had each a +daughter. Suppose one widow’s name Mary, and her +son’s name John, and the other widow’s name Sarah, +and her son’s James; this answers the fourth line. +Then suppose John married Sarah, and had a daughter by her, and +James married Mary, and had a daughter also, these marriages +answer the first, second, third, fifth, and sixth lines of the +epitaph.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Sudden and unexpected was the end<br /> +Of our esteemed and beloved friend.<br /> +He gave to all his friends a sudden shock<br /> +By one day falling into Sunderland Dock.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 165--><a +name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 165</span>At +Sakiwedel.</p> +<blockquote><p>Traveller, hurry not, as if you were going +<i>post</i>-haste; in the most rapid journey you must stop at the +<i>post</i> house. Here repose the bones of MATTHIAS +SCHULZEN, the most humble and most faithful <i>Postmaster</i>, +for upwards of Twenty-five years, of His Majesty, Frederick, King +of Prussia. He arrived 1655; and afterwards travelled with +distinction in life’s pilgrimage, by walking courses in the +Schools and Universities. He carefully performed his duties +as a Christian, and when the <i>post</i> of misfortune came, he +behaved according to the <i>letter</i> of divine +consolation. His body, however, ultimately being enfeebled, +he was prepared to attend the signal given by the <i>post</i> of +death; when his soul set off on her pleasing journey for +Paradise, the 2nd of June, 1711; and his body afterwards was +committed to this silent tomb. Reader, in thy pilgrimage +through life, be mindful of the prophetic <i>post</i> of +Death!</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Dear Husband, now my life is past,<br /> +And I am stuck in Earth so fast,<br /> +I pray no sorrow for me take,<br /> +But love my Children, for my sake;—</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Hamburgh.</p> +<blockquote><p>“O Mors +Cur Deus Negat Vitam<br /> +be te bis +nos bis nam.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">Solution.</p> +<blockquote><p>O! Superbe! Mors Super--te!<br /> +Cur Superbis?<br /> +Deus Supernos! negat Superbis<br /> +Vitam Supernam.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p><!-- page 166--><a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +166</span>On the Duke of Burgundy’s tomb in St. +George’s Church, near Condé:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Carolus hoc busto Burgundæ gloria +gentis,<br /> +Conditur, Europæ qui fuit ante timor.”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>Near the left wall in the Protestant-ground at Rome is a +monument to Lord Barrington, and a tombstone to the infant child +of Mr. William Lambton:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Go thou, white in thy soul, and fill a throne<br +/> +Of innocence and purity in heaven!</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Silo Princeps Fecit.</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: center">T</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">T</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">R</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">R</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">R</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">R</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">O</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">R</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">R</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">O</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">L</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: 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+<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">R</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">R</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">O</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">L</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center"><b>S</b></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">L</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">O</p> +</td> +<td><p 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center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">R</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">O</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">L</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">O</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">R</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">R</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">O</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">R</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">R</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">R</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">R</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: center">T</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">N</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">P</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">S</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">F</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">E</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">C</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">I</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: center">T</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p>At the entrance of the Church of St. Salvador in the city of +Oviedo, in Spain, is a most remarkable tomb, erected by a prince +named Silo, with this very curious Latin inscription which may be +read 270 ways by beginning with the capital letter S in the +centre.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p><!-- page 167--><a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +167</span>On a tombstone in the churchyard at Hochheim, a village +where one of the best species of Rhenish is produced, and from +the name of which our generic Hock is derived:—</p> +<blockquote><p>This grave holds Caspar Schink, who came to +dine,<br /> +And taste the noblest vintage of the Rhine;<br /> +Three nights he sat, and thirty bottles drank,<br /> +Then lifeless by the board of Bacchus sank.<br /> +One only comfort have we in the case,—<br /> +The trump will raise him in the proper place.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lies Peg, that drunken sot,<br /> +Who dearly loved her jug and pot;<br /> +There she lies, as sure as can be,<br /> +She killed herself by drinking brandy.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">Calcutta.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Bene:<br /> +AT. HT, Hi S: ST--<br /> +Oneli: E: Skat. .<br /> +He, Ri, N. eg. Rayc--<br /> +(Hang’d)<br /> +. F . R.<br /> +O! mab. V, Syli, Fetol--<br /> +IF . . Ele:<br /> +(SSCL)<br /> +Ayb... Year.<br /> +. Than.<br /> +Dcl--Ays<br /> +: Hego.<br /> +Therpel:<br /> +. Fand.<br /> +No, WS. He: stur<br /> +N’D to Ear,<br /> +<!-- page 168--><a name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +168</span>TH, h, Ersel<br /> +Fy! EWE: EP....<br /> +In: G. F. R: IE: N<br /> +D. S. L.<br /> +Et, mea D<br /> +V: I<br /> +Sea: ...... Batey.<br /> +O! V: rg.....<br /> +RiE .... Fan.<br /> +. D. D.<br /> +RYY. O! V.R.E<br /> +Yes. F.O.R W: H<br /> +. ATa.<br /> +Vai .... LS. a. flo.<br /> +O! do. F. Tea. R.<br /> +SW: Hok: No: WS:<br /> +Buti. nar. U.<br /> +No! Fy: Ear, SI: N.<br /> +SO: Metal:<br /> +L. Pit. c.<br /> +HERO: . . r. Bro, a:<br /> +D. P.<br /> +ANS, Hei<br /> +N. H.<br /> +Ers. Hop. ma:<br /> +Y. B.<br /> +Ea: Gai .... N. .</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>The following was written by Capt. Morris on Edward Heardson, +thirty years Cook to the Beef Steak Society.</p> +<blockquote><p>His last <i>steak</i> done; his fire rak’d +out and dead,<br /> +<i>Dished</i> for the worms himself, lies <i>honest Ned</i>:<br +/> +<i>We</i>, then, whose breasts bore all his <i>fleshly +toils</i>,<br /> +Took all his <i>bastings</i>, and shared all his +<i>broils</i>;<br /> +<!-- page 169--><a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +169</span>Now, in our turn, a <i>mouthful carve</i> and +<i>trim</i>,<br /> +And <i>dress</i> at Phœbus’ <i>fire</i>, one +<i>scrap</i> for him:—<br /> +His heart which well might grace the noblest grave,<br /> +Was grateful, patient, modest, just, and brave;<br /> +And ne’er did earth’s wide maw <i>a morsel</i> +gain<br /> +Of <i>kindlier juices</i> or more tender <i>grain</i>;<br /> +His tongue, where duteous friendship humbly dwelt,<br /> +Charmed all who heard the faithful zeal he felt;<br /> +Still to whatever end his <i>chops</i> he mov’d,<br /> +’Twas all <i>well seasoned</i>, <i>relished</i>, and +approv’d:<br /> +This room his heaven!—When threatening Fate drew nigh<br /> +The closing shade that dimm’d his ling’ring eye,<br +/> +His last fond hopes, betray’d by many a tear,<br /> +Were—That his life’s last <i>spark</i> might glimmer +here;<br /> +And the last words that choak’d his parting sigh—<br +/> +“Oh! at your feet, dear masters, let me die!”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Ann Short.</p> +<blockquote><p>Ann <i>Short</i>, O Lord, of praising thee,<br /> + Nothing I can do is right;<br /> +Needy and naked, poor I be,<br /> + <i>Short</i>, Lord, I am of sight:<br /> +How <i>short</i> I am of love and grace!<br /> + Of everything I’m <i>short</i>,<br /> +Renew me, then I’ll follow peace<br /> + Through good and bad report.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Under this stone lies Meredith Morgan,<br /> +Who blew the bellows of our Church organ;<br /> +Tobacco he hated, to smoke most unwilling,<br /> +Yet never so pleased as when pipes he was filling;<br /> +No reflection on him for rude speech could be cast,<br /> +Tho’ he gave our old organist many a blast.<br /> +<!-- page 170--><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +170</span>No puffer was he,<br /> +Tho’ a capital blower;<br /> +He could fill double G,<br /> +And now lies a note lower.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p>In the Cathedral of Sienna, celebrated for its floor inlaid +with the History of the New Testament, is the following singular +Epitaph, probably placed there as a <i>memento to Italian Toby +Philpots</i>:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Wine gives life; it was death to me, I +could not behold the dawn of morning in a sober state. Even +my bones are now thirsty. Stranger, sprinkle my grave with +wine; empty the flaggons and come. Farewell +Drinkers!”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Over a grave in Prince +Edward’s Island.</p> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the body of poor Charles Lamb,<br /> +Killed by a tree that fell slap bang.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lies the body of Gabriel John,<br /> +Who died in the year of a thousand and one;<br /> +Pray for the soul of Gabriel John,<br /> +You may if you please,<br /> +Or let it alone;<br /> +For its all one<br /> +To Gabriel John,<br /> +Who died in the year of a thousand and one.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>Here lies John Bunn,<br /> +Who was killed by a gun;<br /> +His name wasn’t Bun, his real name was Wood,<br /> +But Wood wouldn’t rhyme with gun, so I thought Bun +should.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 171--><a +name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 171</span>In Memory +of<br /> +THE STATE LOTTERY,<br /> +the last of a long line<br /> +whose origin in England commenced<br /> +in the year 1569,<br /> +which, after a series of tedious complaints,<br /> +<i>Expired</i><br /> +on the<br /> +18th day of October, 1826.<br /> +During a period of 257 years, the family<br /> +flourished under the powerful protection<br /> +of the<br /> +British Parliament;<br /> +the minister of the day continuing to<br /> +give them his support for the<br /> +improvement of the revenue.<br /> +As they increased, it was found that their<br /> +continuance corrupted the morals,<br /> +and encouraged a spirit<br /> +of speculation and gambling among the<br /> +lower classes of the people;<br /> +thousands of whom fell victims to their<br /> +insinuating and tempting allurements.<br /> +Many philanthropic individuals<br /> +in the Senate<br /> +at various times for a series of years,<br /> +pointed out their baneful influence<br /> +without effect,<br /> +His Majesty’s Ministers<br /> +still affording them their countenance<br /> +and protection.<br /> +The British Parliament<br /> +being at length convinced of their<br /> +mischievous tendency,<br /> +<span class="smcap">His Majesty George IV.</span>,<br /> +<!-- page 172--><a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +172</span>on the 9th July, 1823,<br /> +pronounced sentence of condemnation<br /> +on the whole race;<br /> +from which time they were almost<br /> +<span class="smcap">Neglected by the British Public</span>.<br /> +Very great efforts were made by the<br /> +Partisans and friends of the family to<br /> +excite<br /> +the public feeling in favour of the last<br /> +of the race, in vain:<br /> +it continued to linger out the few<br /> +remaining<br /> +moments of its existence without attention<br /> +or sympathy, and finally terminated<br /> +its career, unregretted by any<br /> +virtuous mind.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p>’Twas by a fall I caught my death;<br /> +No man can tell his time or breath;<br /> +I might have died as soon as then<br /> +If I had had physician men.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">On a Grocer.</p> +<blockquote><p>Garret some call’d him,<br /> + but that was too hye;<br /> +His name is Garrard<br /> + who now here doth lie;<br /> +Weepe not for him,<br /> + since he is gone before<br /> +To heaven, where Grocers<br /> + there are many more.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">THE END.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<div class="gapmediumline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">F. +Pickton</span>, Printer, Perry’s Place, 29 Oxford +Street.</p> +<h2>NOTES.</h2> +<p><a name="footnote48"></a><a href="#citation48" +class="footnote">[48]</a> A crown.</p> +<p><a name="footnote80a"></a><a href="#citation80a" +class="footnote">[80a]</a> The stone joins to the south +wall of the church, under one of the spouts.</p> +<p><a name="footnote80b"></a><a href="#citation80b" +class="footnote">[80b]</a> Rufford Abbey, then the seat of +Sir George Saville, Baronet, in whose family the person had lived +as butler.</p> +<p><a name="footnote90"></a><a href="#citation90" +class="footnote">[90]</a> A woman inferring that her +husband is an <i>ass colt</i>.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLEANINGS IN GRAVEYARDS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 34273-h.htm or 34273-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/4/2/7/34273 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without 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