"Hoc posuit moestissima uxor, Sara."
Putting aside all partiality for one's own discovery, I confess that I
do not know the fellow of this epitaph. It realises one's ideal of an
epitaph, inasmuch as it combines exceeding brevity and beauty of
expression with exceeding fulness of thought and feeling. Love, sorrow,
and faith, bereaved affection and trustful piety, find most ample and
exquisite utterance in these two lines. It has scarcely won the fame to
which it is entitled: I have never met with it in any collection of
epitaphs. The authorship would have done no dishonour to Milton himself,
to whose place of sepulture it lends, if possible, an additional
consecration. Curiously enough, not merely its singular excellence, but
also its date, and one or two other circumstances, give some little
encouragement to the idea of Miltonic ownership. The monument bears the
date of 1650, when Milton was in the fulness of his powers and
reputation. He was especially connected with Cripplegate Church; more
than one of his many London abodes were in its neighbourhood. There, in
the earlier part of his London life, during his residence in Aldersgate
Street, he may have often worshipped; there his father lay; there he
meant his own sepulchre to be. He who honoured "the religious memory of
Mrs. Catharine Thomson, my Christian Friend," with his most glorious
sonnet, would not have disdained to bestow a couplet upon the grief of
another obscure friend. There are, then, certain presumptions in favour
of Cripplegate Church containing an epitaph by Milton. But it does not
appear in any collection of the works of one who was so careful of his
smallest and most juvenile productions. This fact, I must confess, is
quite strong enough to demolish a likely and pleasing fancy. The
epitaph, however, though it may not be Miltonic, has every possible
merit, and may find favour with such of your readers as delight in the
literature of tombstones.