BURY ST. EDMUNDS.
The following whimsical epitaph appears upon a white marble slab, in a
conspicuous part of the church of St. Mary:--
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 _founder_, in the hope of
being recast in a better and more perfect mould.
HADLEIGH.
The charnel mounted on this w )
Sits to be seen in funer )
A matron plain, domestic )
In housewifery a princip )
In care and pains continu )
Not slow, nor gay, nor prodig ) all.
Yet neighbourly and hospitab )
Her children seven yet living )
Her 67th year hence did c )
To rest her body natur )
In hope to rise spiritu )
* * * * *
On little Stephen, a noted fiddler.
Stephen and Time
Are now both even;
Stephen beat Time,
Now Time beats Stephen.
* * * * *
Life is only pain below,
When Christ appears, then up we go.
IPSWICH.
John Warner.
I Warner once was to myself,
Now Warning am to thee,
Both living, dying, dead I was,
See then thou warned be.
* * * * *
On ---- More, of Norwich.
More had I once, More would I have;
More is not to be had.
The first I . . . the next is vaine;
The third is too too bad.
If I had us'd with more regard
The More that I did give,
I might have made More use and fruit
Of More while he did live.
THURLOW.
Here she lies, a pretty bud,
Lately made of flesh and blood;
Who as soon fell fast asleep
As her little eyes did peep.
Give her strewings, but not stir
The earth that lightly covers her.
LAVENHAM.
Quod fuit esse quod est, quod non fuit esse quod esse.
Esse quod est non esse, quod est non erit esse.
Translation.
What John Giles has been,
Is what he is (a batchelor);
What he has not been,
Is what he is (a corpse);
To be what he is
Is not to be (a living creature).
He will not have to be
What he is not (dust).
BURY.
Here lies Jane Kitchen, who, when her glass was spent,
Kickt up her heels, and away she went.
Surrey.
BERMONDSEY.
William Palin.
Silent grave, to thee I trust
This precious pearl of worthy dust.
Keep it safe, O sacred tomb!
Until a wife shall ask for room.
WALWORTH.
Here lies the wife of Roger Martin,
She was a good wife to Roger--that's sartain.
OCKHAM.
The Lord saw good, I was topping off wood,
And down fell from the tree;
I met with a check, and I broke my blessed neck,
And so Death topped off me.
WIMBLEDON.
Sweet Saviour, Jesus, give me wings
Of Peace and perfect Love,
As I may move from Earthly Things,
To rest with thee above.
For sins and Sorrows overflow
All earthly things so High,
That I can't find no rest below,
Till up to thee I fly.
THAMES DITTON.
In memory of Mr. Wm Machell, who departed this life Oct. 10, 1808.
Aged 88 years.
Whilst in this world I remained, my life was
A pleasure and health and gain. But now
God thought best to take me to his everlasting rest,
And I thank God for it.
STREATHAM.
On the South Wall of this Church is the following remarkable
Inscription:--Elizabeth, wife of Major-Genl Hamilton, who was married
47 years, and never did ONE thing to disoblige her Husband.
BATTERSEA.
Sir Edward Court.
"Alone, unarm'd, a tiger he oppress'd,
And crush'd to death the monster of a beast:
Thrice twenty mounted Moors he overthrew
Singly on foot, some wounded, some he slew,
Disperst the rest; what more could Sampson do?"
NOTE.--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.
GUILDFORD.
Reader, pass on, ne'er waste your time
On bad biography and bitter rhyme;
For what I am, this cumb'rous clay insures,
And what I was, is no affair of yours.
BEDDINGTON.
Thomas Greenhill.
Under thy feet interr'd is here
A native born in Oxfordshire;
First life and learning Oxford gave,
Surry him his death and grave;
He once a Hill was fresh and Greene,
Now withered is not to be seene;
Earth in earth shovell'd up is shut,
A Hill into a Hole is put;
But darksome earth by Power Divine,
Bright at last as the sun may shine.
RICHMOND.
On Captain John Dunch, who died in 1697, aged 67.
Though Boreas' blasts and Neptune's waves
Have tossed me to and fro,
In spight of both, by God's decree,
I anchor here below,
Where I do now at anchor ride,
With many of our fleet,
Yet once again I must set sail,
Our admiral, Christ, to meet.
CAMBERWELL.
Richard Wade, died Oct. 21, 1810, aged 53.
Giles Wade, died Dec. 8, 1810, aged 53.
Near together they came,
Near together they went,
Near together they are.
Sussex.
BARCOMB.
All you that come my grave to see
Prepare yourself to Follow me,
Take care Young men repent in time
For I was taken in my Prime.
As I was going through a Barn
I little thought of any harm,
A piece of Timber on me fell,
And penetrated through my Skull.
My Eyes were Blinded I could not see,
My Parents they did weep for Me,
My Time was come I was Forced to go,
And bid the World and Them Adieu.
Just six and thirty hours I lay
In great Pain and Agony,
Till the Archangel bid me come,
And called my Soul to its last Home.
CHICHESTER.
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:--
Did he who wrote upon this wall,
Believe or disbelieve St. Paul?
Who says where-er it is or stands,
There is another house not made with hands,
Or do we gather from these words,
That house is not a house of lords?
* * * * *
Here lies an old soldier whom all must applaud,
Who fought many battles at home and abroad;
But the hottest engagement he ever was in,
Was the conquest of self in the battle of sin.
BEXHILL.
On a Young Lady.
I lay me down to rest me,
And pray to God to bless me,
And if I sleep and never wake,
I pray to God my soul to take
This night for Evermore--Amen.
WEST GRINSTEAD.
Vast Strong was I, but yet did dye,
And in my Grave asleep I Lye,
My Grave is Stoned all round about,
But I hope the Lord will find me out.
MAYFIELD.
Oh reader! if that thou can'st read
Look down upon this stone;
Do all we can, Death is a man,
What never spareth none.
STORRINGTON.
Here lies the body of Edward Hide,
We laid him here because he died,
We had rather
It been his father,
If it had been his sister
We should not have missed her,
But since 'tis honest Ned,
No more shall be said.
* * * * *
Here lies my poor wife, without bed or blanket,
But dead as a door nail, God be thanked.
LAVANT.
Mr. Samford, Blacksmith.
My Sledge and hammer lie reclined,
My Bellows, too, have lost their wind;
My fire's extinct, my forge decayed,
And in the dust my vice is laid;
My coal is spent, my iron gone,
My nails are drove, my work is done.
EAST GRINSTEAD.
I was as grass that did grow up,
And wither'd before it grew,
As Snails do waste within their Shells,
So the number of my days were few.
RODMELL.
Elizabeth Ellis (1757).
If love and virtue doth conduce to grace the fair,
These was once possessed by her who lieth here;
But alas! by fate the object of her love was drowned.
By death surprized in trying to save a hound.
Which such effect had on her tender mind
It brought her into a deep decline.
With him her transitory bliss is fled,
And she a cold companion of the dead.
Since this catastrophe cannot fail to show
How uncertain all earthly joys are here below.
BRIGHTON.
His fate was hard, but God's decree
Was, drown'd he should lie--in the sea.
Warwickshire.
BIRMINGHAM.
By a Lady on her Husband.
Oh! cruel death, how could you be so unkind,
To take _him_ before, and leave me behind.
You should have taken both of us--if either,
Which would have been more pleasant to the _survivor_.
* * * * *
My time is out, my glass is run,
I never more shan't see the sun;
To live for ever, no man don't,
The Lord does not think fitting on't.
COVENTRY.
Upon a rich Merchant's Wife.
She was What was,
But words are Wanting to say what a One.
What a Wife should be,
She was that.
STRATFORD ON AVON.
On Shakspeare's Monument are engraved the following distich and lines:--
"Judicio Pylium, genio Socratem, arte Maronem,
Terra tegit, populus moeret, Olympus habet."
"Stay, passenger, why dost thou go so fast?
Read, if thou canst, what envious death hath placed
Within this monument; Shakspeare, with whom
Quick nature died; whose name doth deck the tomb
Far more than cost, since all that he hath writ
Leaves living art but page unto his wit."
Westmoreland.
RAVENSTONEDALE.
Here lies a Wife,
Mary Metcalf,
Where I was born, or when,
It matters not,--
To whom related, or
By whom begot.
* * * * *
John Robinson Hunter,
Aged 30.
He lived; and died
Unplaced, unpensioned--
No man's heir
Or slave.
"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?"
Wiltshire.
SALISBURY.
"Innocence embellishes, divinely compleat,
The pre-existing co-essence, now sublimely great.
He can surpassingly immortalize thy theme,
And perforate thy soul, celestial supreme.
When gracious refulgence bids the grave resign
The Creator's nursing protection be thine.
So shall each perspiring aether joyfully arise,
Transcendantly good, supereminently wise."
* * * * *
In the morning I was well,
In the afternoon from a cart I fell,
An accident somewhat severe,
In less than a fortnight brought me here.
ANSTEY.
Mary Best lies buried hear,
Her age it was just ninety year;
Twenty-eight she liv'd a single life,
And only four years was a wife;
She liv'd a widow fifty-eight,
And died January 11, eighty-eight.
CALNE.
God worketh wonders now and then,
Here lies a miller, and an honest man.
Worcestershire.
WORCESTER.
Mr. John Mole.
Beneath this cold stone lies a son of the earth;
His story is short, though we date from his birth;
His mind was as gross as his body was big;
He drank like a fish, and he ate like a pig.
No cares of religion, of wedlock, or state,
Did e'er for a moment encumber John's pate.
He sat or he walked, but his walk was but creeping,
And he rose from his bed--when quite tir'd of sleeping.
Without foe, without friend, unnotic'd he died;
Not a single soul laughed, not a single soul cried.
Like his four-footed namesake, he dearly lov'd earth.
So the sexton has cover'd his body with turf.
* * * * *
Mammy and I together lived
Just two years and a half;
She went first, I followed next,
The cow before the calf.
BROMESGROVE.
In memory of Thomas Maningly.
Beneath this stone lies the remains,
Who in Bromsgrove-street was slain.
A currier with his knife did the deed,
And left me in the street to bleed;
But when archangel's trump shall sound,
And souls to bodies join, that murderer
I hope will see my soul in heaven shine.
GREAT MALVERN.
Pain was my portion, physic was my food,
Grones my devotion--drugs done me no good.
Christ was my physician--he knowed what was best,
He took me to Himself, and put me here at rest.
BELBROUGTON
Richard Philpots.
To tell a merry or a wonderous tale
Over a chearful glass of nappy Ale,
In harmless mirth was his supreme delight,
To please his Guests or Friends by day or night;
But no fine tale, how well soever told,
Could make the tyrant Death his stroak withold;
That fatal Stroak has Laid him here in Dust,
To rise again once more with Joy we trust.
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.
* * * * *
"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.
"C. BEDE."
Yorkshire.
LEEDS.
Under this stone do lie six children small,
Of John Wittington of the North Hall.
* * * * *
On a Learned Alderman.
Here lies William Curtis, late our Lord Mayor,
Who has left _this here_ world, and is gone to _that there_.
SELBY.
Here lies the body of poor _Frank Row_,
Parish clerk, and grave-stone cutter;
And this is writ to let you know,
What _Frank_ for others us'd to do,
Is now for _Frank_ done by another.
BARWICK-IN-ELMET.
On a Marine Officer.
Here lies, retired from busy scenes,
A first lieutenant of marines,
Who lately lived in gay content
On board the brave ship _Diligent_.
Now stripped of all his warlike show,
And laid in box of elm below,
Confined in earth in narrow borders,
He rises not till further orders.
BIRSTALL.
This is to the memory of old Amos,
Who was, when alive for hunting famous,
But now his chases are all o'er,
And here he's earthed--of years fourscore.
Upon this stone he's often sat,
And tried to read his epitaph;
And thou who dost so at this moment,
Shalt, ere long, somewhere lie dormant.
ROTHERHAM.
We joined was in mutual love,
And so we did remain,
Till parted was by God above,
In hopes to meet again.
LEEDS.
Hic jacet sure the fattest man,
That Yorkshire stingo made;
He was a lover--of his can,
A clothier by his trade.
His waist did measure three yards round,
He weighed almost three hundred pounds;
His flesh did weigh full twenty stone--
His flesh, I say, he had no bone,
At least 'tis said that he had none.
NORTH ALLERTON.
Hic jacet Walter Gun,
Some time Landlord of the Sun;
Sic transit gloria mundi.
He drank hard upon Friday,
That being a high day,
Then took to his bed and died upon Sunday.
WADDINGTON.
Wm. Rd. Phelp, a Boatswain of H.M.S. Invincible.
When I was like you,
For years not a few,
On the ocean I toil'd,
On the line I have broil'd,
In Greenland I've shiver'd,
Now from hardships deliver'd;
Capsized by old Death,
I surrendered my breath,
And now I lay snug,
As a bug in a rug.
LEEDS.
Here lies my wife,
Here lies she;
Hallelujah,
Hallelujee.
RICHMOND.
Here lies the body of William Wix,
One Thousand, Seven Hundred & Sixty Six.
Wales.
Carmarthenshire.
CARMARTHEN.
A hopeful youth, and well beloved,
Has to the earth his body bequeathed.
Carnarvonshire.
ABERCONWAY.
Here lieth the body of Nicholas Hooker, of Conway, Gent.
Who was the one and fortieth child of William Hooker, Esq.by
Alice his wife, and the father of twenty-seven children.
He died on the 20th day of March, 1637.
CARNARVON.
Dust from dust at first was taken,--
Dust by dust is now forsaken;
Dust in dust shall still remain,
Till dust from dust shall rise again.
Denbighshire.
WREXHAM.
Here lies a Church-warden,
A choice flower in that garden,
Joseph Critchley by name,
Who lived in good fame
Being gone to rest,
Without doubt he is blest.
Montgomeryshire.
MONTGOMERY.
All you that come our grave to see
A moment pause and think,
How we are in eternity
And you are on the brink.
BERRIEW.
Farewell, my dear and loving wife,
Partner of the cares of life,
And you my children now adieu,
Since I no more can come to you.
GUILDSFIELD.
Beneath this yew tree
Buried would he be,
Because his father, he,
Planted this yew tree.
Pembrokeshire.
LLANVAIR.
Who Ever hear on Sonday,
Will practis playing at Ball,
It may be be Fore Munday
The devil Will Have you All.
Radnorshire.
RADNOR.
In health and strength unthinking of my fate,
Death like a thief knock'd at my Bolted gate,
I hasted down to know the reason why
That noise was made, Death Quickly did Reply,
For thee I Call, thy Soul is now Requir'd,
I trembling gaz'd and Instantly Expir'd.
Scotland.
Ayrshire.
MUIRKIRK.
Inscription.
Here lies John Smith
who was shot by Col.
Buchan and the laird
of Lee. Feb. 1685.
For his adherence to the
word of God and Scot
land's covenanted w-
ork of reformation,
Rev. 12, ii. Erected in the
year 1731.
* * * * *
Epitaph.
When proud apostates
did abjure Scotland's
reformation pure And
fill'd this land with perj
ury and all sorts of In-
iquity Such as would not
with them comply They pe
rsecute with hue and
cry. I in the flight
was overtane And fo
r the truth by them
was slain.
Caithnessshire.
HALKIRK.
Sir Jno. Graham.
Here lies Sir John the Grame both right and wise,
One of the chiefs rescued Scotland thrice,
An better knight ne're to the world was lent
Than was good Grame of truth and hardiment.
Dumfriesshire.
HODDAM.
Here lyes a man, who all his mortal life
Past mending clocks but could not mend hys wyfe.
The 'larum of his bell was ne'er sae shrill
As was her tongue, aye clacking like a mill.
But now he's gane--oh, whither? nane can tell--
I hope beyond the sound o' Mally's bell.
* * * * *
Here lies John Speir
Dumfreise--Pipier,
Young John?--Fy Fy.
Old John?--Ay Ay.
Edinburghshire.
EDINBURGH.
Here lie I, Martin Eldinbrode,
Ha' mercy on my soul, Loord Gode;
As I would do, were I Lord Gode,
And thou wert Martin Eldinbrode.
* * * * *
John McPherson
Was a wonderful person,
He was six feet two
Without his shoe,
And he was slew
At Waterloo.
* * * * *
Here lies Donald and his wife
Janet Mac Fee,
Aged Forty hee,
Aged thirty shee.
* * * * *
Here lieth the limbs of a lang devil,
Wha! in his time has done much evil,
And oft the ale wybes he opprest,
And blest be God he's gone to rest.
* * * * *
John Carnagie lies here,
Descended of Adam and Eve,
If any can gang higher
He willingly gives him leave.
This epitaph is undoubtedly that from which Prior borrowed those
beautiful and well-known lines he once intended for his own monument.
* * * * *
Wha lies here?
I Johnny Dow.
Hoo! Johnny, is that you?
Ay, man, but a'm dead now.
Fifeshire.
TORRYBURN.
On a drunken Cobbler.
Enclosed within this narrow stall
Lies one who was a friend to _awl_.
He saved bad _soles_ from getting worse,
But damned his own without remorse.
And tho' a drunken life he passed,
Yet saved his _soul_ by _mending at the last_.
Forfarshire.
CUPAR.
William Rymour.
Through Christ, T'me not inferiour
To William the Conqueror.--Rom. 8, 37. (! !)
DUNDEE.
Walter Coupar, Tailor.
Kynd commorads! here Coupar's corpse is laid,
Walter by name, and Tayleour to his trade,
Both kind and true, and stout and honest-hearted,
Condole with me that he so soon departed.
For, Tavou, he never weyl'd and sheer
Had better parts, nor he that's bur'yd here.
DUNDEE.
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.
Here lies the Provost of Dundee,
Here lies him, here lies he.
Hi-diddle-dum, Hi-diddle-dee,
A, B, C, D, E, F, G.
* * * * *
Here lies the body of John Watson,
Read this not with your hats on,
For why--he was Provost of Dundee,
Hallelujah, Hallelujee.
MONTROSE.
Here lyes the bodeys of George Young and Isbel Guthrie, and all their
posterity for fifty years backwards.
November 1757.
Haddingtonshire.
PRESTONPANS.
William Matthison here lies,
Whose age was forty-one,
February 17, he dies,
Went Isbel Mitchell from,
Who was his married wife
The fourth part of his life.
The soul it cannot die,
Though the body be turned to clay,
Yet meet again they must
At the last day.
Trumpet shall sound, archangels cry,
"Come forth Isbel Mitchell and meet Will
Matthison in the sky."
HADDINGTON.
If modesty commend a wife
And Providence a mother,
Grave chastity a widow's life,
We'll not find such another
In Haddington as Mareon Gray,
Who here doth lie till the Domesday.
* * * * *
Hout, Atropos, heard-hearted hag,
To cut the sheugh o' Jamie Craig!
For had he lived a wheen mae years
He'd been o'er teugh for thy auld shears.
But now he's gane, sae maun we a',
Wha wres'les Death's aye shure to fa';
Sae let us pray that we at last
May wun frae Death a canny cast.
ABERLADY.
"Here lies John Smith,
Whom Death slew, for all his pith
The starkest man in Aberlady,
God prepare and make us ready.
Lanarkshire.
GLASGOW.
Our life's a flying shadow, God's the pole,
The index pointing at him is our soul;
Death's the horizon, when our sun is set,
Which will through Christ a resurrection get.
* * * * *
Here lies Mass Andrew Gray,
Of whom ne muckle good can I say:
He was ne Quaker, for he had ne spirit,
He was ne Papist, for he had ne merit.
He was ne Turk, for he drank muckle wine,
He was ne Jew, for he eat muckle swine.
Full forty years he preach'd and le'ed,
For which God doomed him when he de'ed.
Perthshire.
DUNKELD.
Margery Scott.
Stop, passenger, until my life you read,
The living may get knowledge from the dead:
Five times five years I lived a virgin life,
Five times five years I was a virtuous wife,
Five times five years a widow, grave and chaste,
Tired of the elements, I am now at rest;
Betwixt my cradle and my grave were seen
Eight mighty kings of Scotland and a Queen;
Thrice did I see old Pulacy pulled down,
And thrice the cloak did sink beneath the gown.
Stirlingshire.
STIRLING.
John Adamson's here kept within,
Death's prisoner for Adam's sin,
But rests in hope that he shall be
Let, by the second Adam, free.
Wigtonshire.
WIGTON.
Here lies John Taggart, of honest fame,
Of stature low, and a leg lame;
Content he was with portion small,
Kept a shop in Wigtown, and that's all.
Miscellaneous.
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:--
On the twenty-second of June,
Jonathan Fiddle went out of tune.
* * * * *
On Shadrach Johnson,
Who kept the Wheatsheaf, at Bedford, and had twenty-
four children by his first wife, and eight by his second.
Shadrach lies here; who made both sexes happy,
The women with love toys, and the men with nappy.
* * * * *
On a Cricketer.
I _bowled_, I _struck_, I _caught_, I _stopt_,
Sure life's a game of cricket;
I _block'd_ with care, with caution popp'd,
Yet Death has hit my _wicket_.
* * * * *
On a Puritanical Locksmith.
A zealous locksmith died of late,
And did arrive at heaven gate;
He stood without and would not knock,
Because he meant to pick the lock.
* * * * *
On John Cole,
Who died suddenly, while at dinner.
Here lies Johnny Cole,
Who died, on my soul,
After eating a plentiful dinner.
While chewing his crust,
He was turned into dust,
With his crimes undigested--poor sinner!
* * * * *
On Mr. Death, the Actor.
Death levels all, both high and low,
Without regard to stations;
Yet why complain,
If we are slain?
For here lies one, at least, to show,
He kills his own relations.
* * * * *
"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." (_Dickens_).
"Here lies an honest lawyer,
And that is Strange."
* * * * *
"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:"--
"When people's ill, they comes to I,
I physics, bleeds, and sweats 'em;
Sometimes they live, sometimes they die;
What's that to I? I. Letsome." (_lets 'em_.)
* * * * *
On Mr. Foot.
Here lies one Foot, whose death may thousands save;
For Death himself has now _one Foot_ i' th' grave.
* * * * *
On a Gentleman who expended his Fortune in
Horse-racing.
John ran so long, and ran so fast,
No wonder he ran out at last;
He ran in debt, and then to pay,
He distanced all--and ran away.
* * * * *
On a Miser.
They call'd thee rich, I deem'd thee poor,
Since, if thou dar'dst not use thy store,
But sav'd it only for thy heirs,
The treasure was not thine--but theirs.
* * * * *
Lines written by Robert of Gloucester upon King Henry the First, who died
through over-eating of his favourite fish:--