'Tis OTWELL HILL, a holy Hill,
And truly, sooth to say,
Upon this Hill be praised still
The Lord both night and day.
Upon this Hill, this HILL did cry
Aloud the scripture letter,
And strove your wicked villains by
Good conduct to make better.
And now this HILL, tho' under stones,
Has the Lord's Hill to lie on;
For Lincoln Hill has got his bones,
His soul the Hill of Sion.
The _Guardian_, for 3rd Dec., 1873, gives the following epitaph as being
in Lillington Church, Dorset, on the grave of a man named Cole, who died
in 1669:--
Reader, you have within this grave
A Cole rak'd up in dust.
His courteous Fate saw it was Late,
And that to Bed he must.
Soe all was swept up to be Kept
Alive until the day
The Trump shall blow it up and shew
The Cole but sleeping lay.
Then do not doubt the Coles not out
Though it in ashes lyes,
That little sparke now in the Darke
Will like the Phoenyx rise.
Our next example was inscribed in Peterborough Cathedral, to the memory of
Sir Richard Worme, ob. 1589:--
Does Worm eat Worme? Knight Worme this truth confirms,
For here, with worms, lies Worme, a dish for worms.
Does worm eat Worme? sure Worme will this deny,
For Worme with worms, a dish for worms don't lie.
'Tis so, and 'tis not so, for free from worms
'Tis certain Worme is blest without his worms.
On a person named Cave, at Barrow-on-Soar, Leicestershire, we have the
following epitaph:
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 buries his own Grave.