Hail!
This stone marks the spot
Where a notorious sot
Doth lie;
Whether at rest or not
It matters not
To you or I.
Oft to the "Lion" he went to fill his horn.
Now to the "Grave" he's gone to get it warm.
_Beered by public subscription by his hale and stout companions, who
deeply lament his absence._
On a gravestone in the churchyard of Eton, placed to the memory of an
innkeeper, it is stated:--
Life's an inn; my house will shew it:
I thought so once, but now I know it.
Man's life is but a winter's day;
Some only breakfast and away;
Others to dinner stop, and are full fed;
The oldest man but sups and then to bed:
Large is his debt who lingers out the day;
He who goes soonest has the least to pay.
Similar epitaphs to the foregoing may be found in many churchyards in this
country. In Micklehurst churchyard, an inscription runs thus:--
Life is an Inn, where all men bait,
The waiter, Time, the landlord, Fate;
Death is the score by all men due,
I've paid my shot--and so must you.
In the old burial ground in Castle Street, Hull, on the gravestone of a
boy, a slightly different version of the rhyme appears:--
In memory of
John, the Son of John and
Ann Bywater, died 25th January,
1815, aged 14 years.
Life's like an Inn, where Travellers stay,
Some only breakfast and away;
Others to dinner stay, and are full fed;
The oldest only sup and go to bed;
Long is the bill who lingers out the day,
Who goes the soonest has the least to pay.
The churchyard of Melton Mowbray furnishes another rendering of the
lines:--
This 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.
The foregoing inscriptions, comparing life to a house, remind us of a
curious inscription in Folkestone churchyard:--
In memory of
REBECCA ROGERS,
who died Aug. 22, 1688,
Aged 44 years.
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 the rent,
Or turn her out of doors for non-payment;
From chimney money, too, this call is free,
To such a house, who would not tenant be.
In "Chronicles of the Tombs," by Thomas Joseph Pettigrew, published in
1857, it is stated respecting the foregoing epitaph: "Smoke money or
chimney money is now collected at Battle, in Sussex, each householder
paying one penny to the Lord of the Manor. It is also levied upon the
inhabitants of the New Forest, in Hants, for the right of cutting peat and
turf for fuel. And from 'Audley's Companion to the Almanac,' page 76, we
learn that 'anciently, even in England, Whitsun farthings, or smoke
farthings, were a composition for offerings made in the Whitsun week, by
every man who occupied a house with a chimney, to the cathedral of the
diocese in which he lived.' The late Mr. E. B. Price has observed, in
_Notes and Queries_, (Vol. ii. p. 379), that there is a church at
Northampton, upon which is an inscription recording that the expense of
repairing it was defrayed by a grant of chimney money for, I believe,
seven years, temp. Charles II."
In the burial-ground of St. Michael's Church, London, was interred one of
the waiters of the famous Boar's Head Tavern:--
Here lieth the bodye of ROBERT PRESTON, late Drawer at the Boar's Head
Tavern, Great Eastcheap, who departed this Life, March 16, Anno Domini
1730, aged 27 years.
Bacchus, to give the topeing world surprize,
Produc'd one sober son, and here he lies.
Tho' nurs'd among full Hogsheads, he defy'd
The charm of wine and ev'ry vice beside.
O Reader, if to Justice thou'rt inclined,
Keep Honest Preston daily in thy Mind.
He drew good wine, took care to fill his pots,
Had sundry virtues that outweighed his fauts, (_sic_)
You that on Bacchus have the like dependence,
Pray copy Bob, in measure and attendance.
The next example from Abesford, on an exciseman, is entitled to a place
among Bacchanalian epitaphs:--
No supervisor's check he fears--
Now no commissioner obeys;
He's free from cares, entreaties, tears,
And all the heavenly oil surveys.
In the churchyard of North Wingfield, Derbyshire, a gravestone bears the
following inscription:--
In Memory of THOMAS, son of JOHN and MARY CLAY, who departed this life
December 16th 1724, in the 40th year of his age.
What though no mournful kindred stand
Around the solemn bier,
No parents wring the trembling hand,
Or drop the silent tear.
No costly oak adorned with art
My weary limbs inclose;
No friends impart a winding-sheet
To deck my last repose.
The cause of the foregoing curious epitaph is thus explained. Thomas Clay
was a man of intemperate habits, and at the time of his death was indebted
to the village innkeeper, named Adlington, to the amount of twenty pounds.
The publican resolved to seize the body; but the parents of the deceased
carefully kept the door locked until the day appointed for the funeral. As
soon as the door was opened, Adlington rushed into the house, seized the
corpse, and placed it on a form in the open street in front of the
residence of the parents of the departed. Clay's friends refused to
discharge the publican's account. After the body had been exposed for
several days, Adlington committed it to the ground in a _bacon chest_.
We conclude this class of epitaphs with the following from Winchester
churchyard:--
In memory of
Thomas Thetcher,
a Grenadier in the North Regiment of Hants Militia,
who died of a violent fever contracted by drinking small
beer when hot
the 12th of May, 1764, aged 26 years.
In grateful remembrance of whose universal goodwill
towards his comrades this stone is placed here at their expense, as
a small testimony of their regard and concern.
Here sleeps in peace a Hampshire Grenadier,
Who caught his death by drinking cold small beer;
Soldiers, be wise from his untimely fall,
And when ye're hot drink strong, or none at all.
This memorial, being decayed, was restored by the officers of the
garrison, A.D. 1781:--
An honest soldier never is forgot,
Whether he die by musket or by pot.
This stone was placed by the North Hants Militia, when disembodied at
Winchester, on 26th April, 1802, in consequence of the original stone
being destroyed.