Gloucestershire.
Stop mourning friends and shed a grateful tear
Upon thy once loved Pitcher's moving bier,
He quits this world without regret or railing,
Life's full of pain--he always has been aleing.
Resigned he fell contented with his lot,
Convinced all Pitchers soon must go to Pot.
BEVERSTONE.
In memory of Katherine Purye, who died Dec. 1, 1604.
Ao 1604.
Dece 1. AEtat. 67.
Quae defuncta jacet saxo tumulata sub illo
Bis Cathara, haud ficto nomine, dicta fuit.
Nomen utrumque sonat mundam, puramque piamq
Et vere nomen quod referebat, erat,
Nam puram puro degebat pectore vitam,
Pura fuit mundo, nunc mage pura Deo.--
[Greek text]
Omnia pura puris,
Tit. 1. ver. 15.
She whom this stone doth quietly immure
In no feign'd way had twice the name of _Pure_:
Pure, pious, clean, each name did signify,
And truly was she what those names imply;
For in pure paths, while yet she lived, she trod;
Pure was she in this world, and now more pure with God.
TETBURY.
In a vault underneath lie interred several of the Saunderses, late of
this parish, particulars the last day will disclose.--Amen.
ALMONDBURY.
Here lies alas! long to be lamented, Benjamin Dobbins, Gent., who
left his Friends sorrowing. Feb. 2, 1760. Aged 42.
Hampshire.
WINCHESTER.
Here sleeps in peace a Hampshire grenadier,
Who caught his death by drinking cold small beer;
Soldiers beware, from his untimely fall,
And, when your'e hot, drink strong, or none at all.
* * * * *
"Severely afflicted--, yet, when most depressed,
Resigned, he endured it as all for the best,
Praised God for his goodness, both present and past;
He yielded his spirit in peace at the last.
"Let friend forbear to mourn and weep,
While in the dust I sweetly sleep;
This frailsome world I left behind,
A crown of glory for to find.
"While in this world I did remain,
My latter days was grief and pain;
But, when the Lord He thought it best,
He took me into a place of rest."
FRESHWATER.
Joseph Robins, Jany. 21, 1811.
The blustering Winds and raging sea
Have tossed me to and fro
Tho' some have found their watery Grave,
I am Anchored here below;
Thus, at an Anchor safe I lie,
With the surrounding Fleet,
And hope one day we shall set sail,
Our Saviour Christ to meet;
My change I hope is for the best,--
To live with Christ and be at rest.
MONKS SHERBORN.
William Cullum, d. 1841, aged 20.
Weep not for me, my tender parents dear,
Taken from your care in early years;
Oh! grieve not, the LORD'S will be done,--
Your dutiful and affectionate son.
BINSTED.
On Hannah, wife of Jeremiah Soffe, died 1832.
When I am dead and in my Grave,
And all my Bones are Rotten.
This when you see, Remember me,
Or lest I should be forgotten.
WHIPPINGHAM, ISLE OF WIGHT.
Thomas Burnett.
1842.
At midnight he was called away
From his employment on the sea,--
Altho' his warning was but short,
We hope he's reached the heavenly port.
ALRESFORD.
On an Exciseman.
No Supervisor's check he fears,
Now, no commissioner obeys;
He's free from cares, entreaties, tears,
And all the heavenly orb surveys.
ST. LAWRENCE, ISLE OF WIGHT.
To the Memory of Robert Dyer, who was drowned,
Aged 19.
Ah! cruel death that would not spare
A loving husband was so dear;
This world he left, and me behind,
The world to try, and friends to find.
* * * * *
Christ our Saviour is above,
And him we hope to see--
And all our friends that are behind
Will soon come after we.
WINCHESTER CATHEDRAL CHURCHYARD.
This Stone
was erected by the
Brethren
of Lodge CXI. of
Free and accepted
Masons,
As a token of respect
for their departed
Brother,
Jonathan Triggs,
who received a
Summons
From the Great Architect
Of the Universe,
At the hour of High Twelve,
on the 24 day of October.
A.L. 5819.
A.D. 1819.
Aged 38 years.
CARISBROOKE.
On a Loving Couple.
Of life he had the better slice,
They lived at once, and died at twice,
Herefordshire.
HEREFORD.
A virtuous woman is 5_s._ 0_d._ {48} to her husband.
* * * * *
Here a lovely youth doth lie,
Which by accident did die;
His precious breath was forced to yield,
For by a waggon he was killed!
* * * * *
Alas! no more I could survive,
For I is dead and not alive;
And thou and time no longer shalt survive,
But be as dead as any man alive.
Hertfordshire.
AMWELL.
That which a Being was--what is it? Show
That Being which it was, it is not now;
To be what 'tis, is not to be, you see,--
That which now is not, shall a Being be.
ST. ALBANS.
Hic jacet Tom Shorthose,--
Sine tomba, sine sheet, sine riches;
Quid vixit,--sine gowne,
Sine cloake, sine shirt, sine breeches.
* * * * *
The Dame, who lies interred within this tomb,
Had Rachel's charms, and Leah's fruitful womb,
Ruth's filial love, and Lydia's faithful heart,
Martha's just care, and Mary's better part.
* * * * *
A comparison of the virtues of the deceased and those of Scripture
characters is found on a monument of Sir Charles Caesar at Bennington,
Herts:--
Nathaniel Daniel Jonathan Uzzita Josephus
Simplicitate Toro Pectore Prole Thoro
* * * * *
Beneath this stone, where now your eye you fix,
Ann Harris lies, who died in sixty-six;
John Harris after her his exit made
In eighty-two, and now is with her laid.
* * * * *
"Sacred to the memory of Miss Martha Gwynn,
Who was so very pure within,
She burst the outer shell of sin,
And hatched HERSELF A CHERUBIM."
HODDESDON.
Captain Henry Graves, died 17th Aug. 1702,
Aged 52 years.
Here, in one Grave, more than one Grave lies--
Envious Death at last hath gained his prize;
No pills or potions could make Death tarry,
Resolved he was to fetch away Old Harry.
Ye foolish doctors, could you all miscarry?
Great were his actions on the boisterous waves,
Resistless seas could never conquer Graves.
Ah! Colchester, lament his overthow,
Unhappily, you lost him at a blow;
Each marine hero for him shed a tear,
St. Margaret's, too, in this must have a share.
HERTFORD.
WOMAN.
"Grieve not for me, my husband dear,
I am not dead, but sleepeth here;
With patience wait, prepare to die,
And in a short time you'll come to I."
MAN.
"I am not grieved, my dearest life;
Sleep on,--I have got another wife;
Therefore, I cannot come to thee,
For I must go and live with she."
ALDENHAM.
John Robinson.
Death parts the dearest Lovers for awhile,
And makes them mourn, who only used to smile,
But after Death our unmixt loves shall tie
Eternal knots betwixt my dear and I.
Huntingdonshire.
BLUNTISHAM.
On a Wrestler.
Here lyes the Conqueror conquered,
Valient as ever England bred;
Whom neither art, nor steel, nor strength,
Could e'er subdue, till death at length
Threw him on his back, and here he lyes,
In hopes hereafter to arise.
Kent.
CRAYFORD.
Here lieth the body of Peter Isnel (30 years clerk of this parish.)
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.
The life of this clerk was just three score and ten,
Nearly half of which time he had sung out _Amen_!
In his youth he was married, like other young men,
But his wife died one day, so he chanted _Amen_!
A second he took--she departed--what then?
He married and buried a third with _Amen_;
Thus, his joys and his sorrows were treble, but then
His voice was deep bass as he sung out _Amen_!
On the horn he could blow as well as most men,
So his horn was exalted in blowing _Amen_;
But he lost all his wind after three score and ten,
And now, with three wives, he waits, till again
The trumpet shall rouse him to sing out _Amen_!
SNODLAND.
Palmers al our faders were,--
I, a Palmer, lived here,
And travylled till, worne with age,
I endyd this world's pylgrymage
On the blyst Assention-day,
In the cheerful month of May,
A thousand with foure hundryd seven,
And took my jorney hense to Heven!
SANDWICH.
To Thomas, son of Thomas Danson, late a Preacher
in this town. Born Oct. 23, 1668; died Oct. 23, 1674.
Upon October's three and twentieth day
The world began, (as learned Annals say,)
That was this child's birthday, on which he died,
The world's end may in his be typified:
Oh! happy little world, whose work is done
Before the greater, and his rest begun.
WOOLWICH.
Several years since, an inhabitant of Woolwich died, leaving a
testamentary order that his tombstone should be inscribed with the
well-known lines:--
Youthful reader, passing by,
As you are now, so once was I,
As I am now, so you must be,
Therefore prepare to follow me.
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--
To follow you I am not content,
Until I know which way you went.
FRINDSBURY.
On Mrs. Lee and her son Tom.
In her life she did her best,
Now, I hope her soul's at rest;
Also her son Tom lies at her feet,
He liv'd till he made both ends meet.
FOLKESTONE.
Sixteen years a Maiden,
One twelve Months a Wife,
One half hour a Mother,
And then I lost my Life.
ROCHESTER.
Though young she was,
Her youth could not withstand,
Nor her protect from Death's
Impartial hand.
Like a cobweb, be we e'er so gay,
And death a broom,
That sweeps us all away.
MAIDSTONE.
"Stop ringers all and cast an eye,
You in your glory, so once was I,
What I have been, as you may see,
Which now is in the belfree."
* * * * *
"God takes the good too good on earth to stay,
And leaves the bad too bad to take away."
The person was very aged on whose tomb-stone the above was written!
LEE.
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:--
"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."
BOBBING.
God gave me at Kinardington in Kent,
My native breath, which now alas is spent,
My parents gave me Tylden Smith for name,
I to the Park farm in this Parish came;
And there for many ling'ring years did dwell,
Whilst my good neighbours did respect me well.
But now my friends, I go by Nature's call,
In humble hopes my crimes will measure small.
Years following years steal something every day,
And lastly steal us from ourselves away.
Life's span forbids us to extend our cares,
And stretch our hopes beyond our fleeting years.
Mary Farminger, my wife, from East Marsh place,
Lies mouldering here like me, in hopes of grace.
* * * * *
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:--
She was a Dorcas,
Whose Curious needle turned the abused stage
Of this lov'd world, into the goldenage,
Whose pen of steele, and silken inck unroll'd
The acts of Jonah in records of gold,
Whose art disclosed that Plot, which had it taken,
Rome had tryumphed, and Britains wall had shaken.
She Was
In heart a Lydia, and in tongue a Hanna,
In zeale a Ruth, in wedlock a Susanna,
Prudently simple, providently wary,
To the world a Martha, and to Heaven a Mary.
Died 1641
STAPLEHURST.
Here lyeth the Body of Mary the daughter of Wm Maiss & Mary his Wife,
who died Sept. 9, 1703, aged 22 years.
Here lyes a piece of Heaven, t'others above,
Which shortly goes up to the World of Love,
The Brightest Sweetest Angels must convey
This spotless Virgin on the starry way;
That glittering _quire_ sings but a lisping song,
Till she appears amidst the shining throng.
SANDWICH.
Robert Needler.
My resting road is found
Vain hope and hap adieu,
Love whom you list
Death hath me rid from you.
The Lord did me from _London_ bring,
To lay my body close herein.
I was my father's only heir,
And the first my mother bare.
But before one year was spent
The Lord his messenger for me sent.
FOLKESTONE.
Rebecca Rogers.
A house she hath it's made of such good fashion,
The tenant ne'er shall pay for reparation;
Nor will her landlord ever raise her Rent,
Or turn her out of doors for non-payment;
From chimney money too this Cell is free,
To such a house who would not tenant be.
* * * * *
Henry Jeffry, leaving 8 children.
A faithful friend, a father dear,
A loving husband lieth here;
My time is past, my glass is run,
My children dear, prepare to come.
ELTHAM.
My wife lies here beneath
Alas! from me she's flown,
She was so good, that Death
Would have her for his own.
Lancashire.
LIVERPOOL.
On John Scott, a Brewer.
Poor John Scott lies buried here,
Tho' one he was both _stout_ and _hale_,
Death stretched him on this _bitter bier_,
In another world he _hops_ about.
MANCHESTER.
My death did come to pass,
Thro' sitting on the derty grass;
Here I lie where I fell,
If you seek my soul go to Hell.
* * * * *
On a profligate Mathematician.
Here lies John Hill,
A man of skill,
His age was five times ten:
He ne'er did good,
Nor ever would,
Had he lived as long again.
SOUTHWORTH.
The world is full of crooked streets,
Death is a place where all men meets,
If life were sold, that men might buy,
The rich would live, the poor must die.
OLDHAM.
On Paul Fuller and Peter Potter, buried near each
other.
'Tis held by Peter and by Paul,
That when we fill our graves or urns,
Ashes to ashes crumbling fall,
And dust to dust once more returns.
So here a truth unmeant for mirth,
Appears in monumental lay;
Paul's grave is filled with Fuller's earth,
And Peter's crammed with Potter's clay.
ROCHDALE.
Tim's Bobbin's Grave.
"Here lies John and with him Mary,
Cheek by jowl and nevery vary;
No wonder they so well agree,
Tim wants no punch, and Moll no tea."
Leicestershire.
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:--
"Here in this Grave there lies a Cave,
We call a Cave a Grave;
If Cave be Grave, and Grave be Cave,
Then reader, judge, I crave,
Whether doth Cave here lie in Grave,
Or Grave here lie in Cave:
If Grave in Cave here buried lie,
Then Grave where is thy victory?
Go, reader, and report here lies a Cave,
Who conquers death, and buyes his own Cave."
MELTON MOWBRAY.
The world's an Inn, and I her guest:
I've eat and drank and took my rest,
With her awhile, and now I pay
Her lavish bill and go my way.
BARKBY.
Francis Fox, vicar, died 1662.
My debt to Death is paid unto a sand,
And pay thou must, that there doth reading stand;
And am laid down to sleep, till Christ from high
Shall raise me, although grim Death stand by.
HARBY.
Mary Hill, died 1784.
With pain and sickness wasted to a bone,
Long time to gracious Heaven I made my moan;
Then God at length to my complaint gave ear,
And sent kind Death to ease my pain and care.
Physicians could no longer save the life
Of a tender mother and a loving wife.
Lincolnshire.
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."
In love we liv'd, in peace did part,
All tho it cot us to the heart.
O dear--what thoughts whe two had
To get for our 12 Children Bread;
Lord! send her health them to maintain:--
I hope to meet my love again.
* * * * *
O angry death yt would not be deny'd,
But break ye bonds of love so firmly ty'd!
She was a loving wife, a tender nurse,
And a faithful friend in every case.
SLEAFORD.
On Henry Fox, a weaver.
Of tender threads this mortal web is made,
The woof and warf, and colours early fade;
When pow'r divine awakes the sleeping dust,
He gives immortal garments to the just.
* * * * *
On the south side of the Sleaford Church, sculptured in the cornice of
the water-table, is the following inscription:--
Here lyeth William Harebeter, and Elizabeth, his wife.
Cryest ihu graunte yem everlastyng lyfe.
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."
* * * * *
On William Gibson.
Who lies here?--Who do you think?
'Tis poor WILL GIBSON,--give him some drink;
Give him some drink, I'll tell you why,
When he was living, he always was dry.
WAINFLEET.
Peck has given from the Palmer MS. the following Epitaph, than which
nothing can be more pompous or ridiculous:--
On a monument erected in 1735.
Near this place,
lye the remains
of Edward Barkham, Esq.
Who in his life time at his own expense
Erected the stately altar piece in this church;
Furnished the communion table
With a very rich crimson velvet carpet,
a cushion of the same, and a beautiful Common Prayer
book;
Likewise with two large flagons,
a chalice with a cover, together with a paten,
All of silver plate.
But above all (& what may very justly
preserve his name to latest posterity)
he gave and devised by will
To the curate of Wainfleet St. Mary's and his successor
for ever
The sum of 35 pounds. per ann. (over and above his former
salary)
with this clause, viz.
'provided the said curate and his successors
do and shall read prayers and preach
once every Sunday in the year for ever.'
So extraordinary an instance of securing a veneration
for the most awful part of our religion,
And so rare and uncommon a zeal
For promoting God's worship every Lord's Day.
RAUCEBY.
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.
How soon ye objects of my love
By death were snatcht from me;
Two loving matrons they did prove,
No better could there be.
One child the first left to my care,
The other left me three.
Joanna was beyond compare,
A phoenix rare was she;
Heaven thought her sure too good to stay
A longer time on earth,
In childbed therefore as she lay,
To God resign'd her breath.
LINCOLN.
Here lyeth the body of
Michael Honeywood, D.D.
Who was grandchild, and one of the
Three hundred and sixty-seven persons,
That Mary the wife of Robert Honeywood, Esq.
Did see before she died,
Lawfully descended from her,
viz.
Sixteen of her own body, 114 grand children,
288 of the third generation, and 9 of the fourth.
Mrs. Honeywood
Died in the year 1605,
And in the 78th year of her age.
GRANTHAM.
John Palfreyman, who is buried here,
Was aged four & twenty year;
And near this place his mother lies;
Likewise his father, when he dies.
ISELTON CUM FENBY.
Here Lies the body of Old Will Loveland,
He's put to bed with a shovel, and
Eased of expenses for raiment and food,
Which all his life-time he would fain have eschewed.
He grudged his housekeeping his children's support,
And laid in his meat of the cagge-mag sort.
No fyshe or fowle touched he when t'was dearly Bought,
But a Green taile or herrings a score for a groate.
No friend to the needy
His wealth gather'd speedy,
And he never did naught but evil,
He liv'd like a hogg,
He died like a dogg,
And now he rides post to the devil.
STAMFORD.
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.
Middlesex.
STEPNEY.
On Mary Angel.
To say an angel here interr'd doth lye,
May be thought strange, for angels never dye;
Indeed some fell from heav'n to hell;
Are lost and rise no more;
This only fell from death to earth,
Not lost, but gone before;
Her dust lodg'd here, her soul perfect in grace,
Among saints and angels now hath took its place.
* * * * *
On Daniel Saul.
Here lies the body of Daniel Saul,
Spitalfield's weaver--and that's all.
* * * * *
William Wheatly.
Whoever treadeth on this stone,
I pray you tread most neatly;
For underneath the same doth lie
Your honest friend, Will Wheatly.
WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
(In the Abbey.)
Beneath this stone there lies a scull,
Which when it breath'd was wondrous droll;
But now 'tis dead and doom'd to rot,
This scull's as wise, pray is it not?
As Shakspear's, Newton's, Prior's, Gay's,
The Wits, the sages of their days.
* * * * *
On John Ellis.
Life is certain, Death is sure,
Sin's the wound, and Christ's the cure.
* * * * *
On Admiral Blake,
Who died in August, 1657.
Here lies a man made Spain and Holland shake,
Made France to tremble, and the Turks to quake;
Thus he tam'd men, but if a lady stood
In 's sight, it rais'd a palsy in his blood;
Cupid's antagonist, who on his life
Had fortune as familiar as a wife.
A stiff, hard, iron soldier, for he
It seems had more of Mars than Mercury;
At sea he thunder'd, calm'd each rising wave,
And now he's dead sent thundering to his grave.
* * * * *
In Parliament, a Burgess Cole was placed,
In Westminster the like for many Years,
But now with Saints above his Soul is graced,
And lives a Burgess with Heav'n's Royal Peers.
HAMPSTEAD.
Underneath where as you see,
There lies the body of Simon Tree.
ST. BENNET, PAUL'S WHARF.
Here lies one More, and no More than he,
One More, and no More! how can that be?
Why one More and no More may well lie here alone,
But here lies one More, and that's More than one.
ST. LAWRENCE JEWRY.
On William Bird.
One charming Bird to Paradise is flown,
Yet are we not of comfort quite bereft:
Since one of this fair brood is still our own,
And still to cheer our drooping souls is left.
This stays with us while that his flight doth take,
That earth and skies may one sweet concert make.
ST. ANDREW'S.
On Walter Good.
A thing here singular this doth unfold,
Name and nature due proportion hold;
In real goodness who did live his days,
He cannot fail to die well, to his praise.
ST. GILES, CRIPPLEGATE.
On Gervase Aire.
Under this marble fair,
Lies the body entomb'd of Gervase Aire:
He dyd not of an ague fit,
Nor surfeited by too much wit,
Methinks this was a wondrous death,
That Aire should die for want of breath.
ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL.
On Sir Henry Croft.
Six lines this image shall delineate:--
High Croft, high borne, in spirit & in virtue high,
Approv'd, belov'd, a Knight, stout Mars his mate,
Love's fire, war's flame, in heart, head, hand, & eye;
Which flame war's comet, grace, now so refines,
That pined in Heaven, in Heaven and Earth it shines.
HENDON.
Poor Ralph lies beneath this roof, and sure he must be blest,
For though he could do nothing, he meant to do the best,
Think of your soules, ye guilty throng,
Who, knowing what is right, do wrong.
* * * * *
On Mr. Sand.
Who would live by others' breath?
Fame deceives the dead man's trust.
Even our names much change by death,
Sand I was, but now am Dust.
* * * * *
On Robert Thomas Crosfield, M.D. 1802, written by himself.
Beneath this stone Tom Crosfield lies,
Who cares not now who laughs or cries;
He laughed when sober, and, when mellow,
Was a harum scarum heedless fellow;
He gave to none design'd offence;
So "Honi soit qui mal y pense!"
EDMONTON.
In the churchyard on a headstone now removed, was the following
inscription to William Newberry, who was hostler to an inn & died 1695,
in consequence of having taken improper medicine given him by a fellow
servant.
Hic jacet-Newberry Will
Vitam finivit-cum Cochioe Pill
Quis administravit-Bellamy Sue
Quantum quantitat-nescio, scisne tu?
Ne sutor ultra crepidam.
LAMBETH.
R. Brigham.
The Father, Mother, Daughter, in one Grave,
Lye slumbering here beneath the marble Stone;
Three, one in Love, in Tomb, in hope to have
A joyful sight of him that's Three in One.
HILLINGDON.
On Stephen King.