From all Decanal cares at last set free,
(O could that freedom still more perfect be)
My sun’s meridian hour, long past and gone;
Dim night, unfit for work, comes hast’ning on;
In life’s late ev’ning, thro’ a length of day,
I find me gently tending to decay:
How shall I then my fated exit make?
How best secure my great eternal stake?
This my prime wish, to see thy glorious face,
O gracious God, in some more happy place;
Till then to spend my short remains of time
In thoughts, which raise the soul to truths sublime;
To live with innocence, with peace and love,
As do those saints who dwell in bliss above:
By prayers, the wings which faith to reason lends,
O _now_ my soul to Heav’n’s high throne ascends:
While here on earth, thus on my bended knee,
O Power divine, I supplicate to thee;
May I meet Death, when his approach is made,
Not fend of life, nor of his dart afraid;
Feel that my gain, which I esteem’d a loss:
Heav’n is the gold refin’d, earth but the dross.
Bishop Pearce lived and laboured till June 29, 1774, when he died in the
eighty-fourth year of his age.
* * * * *
There is a neat monument by Nollekens over the north gallery of the
church, with a remarkable inscription:--“Sacred to the memory of Thomas
Chase, Esq. formerly of this parish, born in the city of Lisbon the 1st
of November, 1729; and buried under the ruins of the same house where he
first saw the light in the ever-memorable and terrible earthquake which
befell that city the 1st of November, 1755: when after a most wonderful
escape, he by degrees recovered from a very deplorable condition, and
lived till the 20th of Nov 1788, aged 59 years.”
* * * * *
On the outside of the church a monumental stone, fixed in the wall,
records a memorable and affecting instance of gratitude in noble
terms:--
Near this Place lies the Body of
ELIZABETH MONK,
Who departed this Life
On the 27th Day of August, 1753,
Aged 101:
She was the Widow of JOHN MONK, late of this
Parish, Blacksmith,
Her second Husband,
To whom she had been a wife near fifty Years,
By whom she had no Children;
And of the Issue of the first Marriage none lived
to the second;
But VIRTUE
Would not suffer her to be Childless:
An Infant, to whom, and to whose Father and
Mother she had been Nurse
(Such is the Uncertainty of temporal Prosperity)
Became dependent upon Strangers
for the Necessaries of Life:
To him she afforded the Protection of a Mother.
This parental Charity
Was returned with filial Affection;
And she was supported, in the Feebleness of Age,
by him whom she had cherished in
the Helplessness of Infancy.
LET IT BE REMEMBERED,
That there is no Station in which Industry will
not obtain Power to be liberal,
Nor any Character on which Liberality will not
confer Honor
She had been long prepared, by a simple and
unaffected Piety,
For that awful moment, which, however delayed,
Is universally sure.
How few are allowed an equal Time of Probation!
How many, by their Lives,
appear to presume upon more!
To preserve the memory of this person; and yet more, to perpetuate the
lesson of her life, this stone was erected by voluntary contribution.
* * * * *
An intelligent inhabitant of Bromley, in the year 1747, mentions a
discovery, with some accompanying remarks, appropriate to the present
notice:--
“In the year 1733, the present clerk of the parish church of Bromley in
Kent, by his digging a grave in that church-yard, close to the east end
of the chancel wall, dug up a funeral crown, or garland, which is most
artificially wrought in fillagree work with gold and silver wire, in
resemblance of myrtle, (with which plant the funebrial garlands of the
ancients were composed,[286]) whose leaves are fastened to hoops of
larger wire of iron, now something corroded with rust, but both the gold
and silver remain to this time very little different from their original
splendour. It was also lined with cloth of silver, a piece of which,
together with part of this curious garland, I keep as a choice relic of
antiquity.
“Besides these crowns, (which were buried with deceased virgins,) the
ancients had also their depository garlands, the use of which was
continued even till of late years (and perhaps are still retained in
many parts of this nation, for my own knowledge of these matters extends
not above twenty or thirty miles round London,) which garlands, at the
funerals of the deceased, were carried solemnly before the corpse by two
maids, and afterwards hung up in some conspicuous place within the
church, in memorial of the departed person, and were (at least all that
I have seen) made after the following manner, viz. the lower rim or
circlet was a broad hoop of wood, whereunto was fixed, at the sides
thereof, part of two other hoops crossing each other at the top, at
right angles, which formed the upper part, being about one-third longer
than the width; these hoops were wholly covered with artificial flowers
of paper, dyed horn, or silk, and more or less beauteous, according to
the skill or ingenuity of the performer. In the vacancy of the inside,
from the top, hung white paper, cut in form of gloves, whereon was
wrote the deceased’s name, age, &c. together with long slips of various
coloured paper or ribbons. These were many times intermixed with gilded
or painted empty shells of blown eggs, as farther ornaments; or, it may
be, as emblems of the bubbles or bitterness of this life; whilst other
garlands had only a solitary hour-glass hanging therein, as a more
significant symbol of mortality.
“About forty years ago these garlands grew much out of repute, and were
thought by many as very unbecoming decorations for so sacred a place as
the church; and at the reparation or new beautifying several churches
where I have been concerned, I was obliged, by order of the minister and
churchwardens, to take the garlands down, and the inhabitants were
strictly forbidden to hang up any more for the future. Yet
notwithstanding, several people, unwilling to forsake their ancient and
delightful custom, continued still the making of them, and they were
carried at the funerals, as before, to the grave, and put therein upon
the coffin over the face of the dead; this I have seen done in many
places.”[287]
[280] See the _Every Day-Book_, on St. John’s eve, &c.
[281] Brand.
[282] In vol. i. p. 715.
[283] Statistical Account of Scotland.
[284] Fosbroke’s Ency. of Antiquities.
[285] Weever.
[286] Sir Thomas Brown’s Misc. Tracts, p. 29.
[287] Gentleman’s Magazine.
* * * * *
~Garrick Plays.~
No. XXVII.
[From the “Gentleman of Venice,” a Tragi-Comedy by James Shirley,
1655.]
_Giovanni, of noble extraction, but brought up a Gardener, and ignorant
of any greater birth, loves Bellaura, a Princess; and is beloved again._
_Bellaura. Giovanni._
_Bell._ How now, Giovanni;
What, with a sword! You were not used to appear
Thus arm’d. Your weapon is a spade, I take it.
_Gio._ It did become my late profession, Madam:
But I am changed--
_Bell._ Not to a soldier?
_Gio._ It is a title, Madam, will much grace me;
And with the best collection of my thoughts
I have ambition to the wars.
_Bell._ You have?
_Gio._ O ’tis a brave profession and rewards
All loss we meet, with double weight in glory;
A calling, Princes still are proud to own;
And some do willingly forget their crowns,
To be commanded. ’Tis the spring of all
We here entitle fame to; Emperors,
And all degrees of honours, owing all
Their names to this employment; in her vast
And circular embraces holding Kings,
And making them; and yet so kind as not
To exclude such private things as I, who may
Learn and commence in her great arts.--My life
Hath been too useless to my self and country;
’Tis time I should employ it, to deserve
A name within their registry, that bring
The wealth, the harvest, home of well-bought honour.
_Bell._ Yet I can see
Through all this revolution, Giovanni,
’Tis something else has wrought this violent change.
Pray let me be of counsel with your thoughts,
And know the serious motive; come, be clear.
I am no enemy, and can assist
Where I allow the cause.
_Gio._ You may be angry,
Madam, and chide it as a saucy pride
In me to name or look at honour; nor
Can I but know what small addition
Is my unskilful arm to aid a country.
_Bell._ I may therefore justly suspect there is
Something of other force, that moves you to
The wars. Enlarge my knowledge with the secret.
_Gio._ At this command I open my heart. Madam,
I must confess there is another cause,
Which I dare not in my obedience
Obscure, since you will call it forth; and yet
I know you will laugh at me--
_Bell._ It would ill
Become my breeding, Giovanni--
_Gio._ Then,
Know, Madam, I am in love.
_Bell._ In love with whom?
_Gio._ With one I dare not name, she is so much
Above my birth and fortunes.
_Bell._ I commend
Your flight. But does she know it?
_Gio._ I durst never
Appear with so much boldness to discover
My heart’s so great ambition; it is here still
A strange and busy guest.
_Bell._ And you think absence
May cure this wound--
_Gio._ Or death--
_Bell._ I may presume
You think she’s fair--
_Gio._ I dare as soon question your beauty, Madam,
The only ornament and star of Venice,
Pardon the bold comparison; yet there is
Something in you, resembles my great Mistress.
She blushes--(_aside_).
Such very beams disperseth her bright eye,
Powerful to restore decrepit nature;
But when she frowns, and changes from her sweet
Aspect, (as in my fears I see you now,
Offended at my boldness), she does blast
Poor Giovanni thus, and thus I wither
At heart, and wish myself a thing lost in
My own forgotten dust.