In coffin made without a nail,
Without a shroud his limbs to hide;
For what can pomp or show avail,
Or velvet pall, to swell the pride.
Here lies JOHN GUY beneath this sod,
Who lov'd his friends, and fear'd his God.
This eccentric gentleman was possessed of considerable property, and was a
native of Gloucestershire. His grave and coffin were made under his
directions more than a twelvemonth before his death; the inscription on
the tablet on his coffin, and the lines placed upon his gravestone, were
his own compositions. He gave all necessary orders for the conducting of
his funeral, and five shillings were wrapped in separate pieces of paper
for each of the bearers. The coffin was of singular beauty and neatness in
workmanship, and looked more like a piece of tasteful cabinet work
intended for a drawing-room, than a receptable for the dead.
Near the great door of the Abbey of St. Peter, Gloucester, says Mr. Henry
Calvert Appleby, at the bottom of the body of the building, is a marble
monument to John Jones, dressed in the robes of an alderman, painted in
different colours. Underneath the effigy, on a tablet of black marble, are
the following words:--
JOHN JONES, alderman, thrice mayor of the city, burgess of the
Parliament at the time of the gunpowder treason; registrar to eight
several Bishops of this diocese.
He died in the sixth year of the reign of King Charles, on the first of
June, 1630. He gave orders for his monument to be raised in his lifetime.
When the workmen had fixed it up, he found fault with it, remarking that
the _nose was too red_. While they were altering it, he walked up and down
the body of the church. He then said that he had himself almost finished,
so he paid off the men, and died the next morning.
The next epitaph from Newark, Nottinghamshire, furnishes a chapter of
local history:--
Sacred to the memory
Of HERCULES CLAY, Alderman of Newark,
Who died in the year of his Mayoralty,
Jan. 1, 1644.
On the 5th of March, 1643,
He and his family were preserved
By the Divine Providence
From the thunderbolt of a terrible cannon
Which had been levelled against his house
By the Besiegers,
And entirely destroyed the same.
Out of gratitude for this deliverance,
He has taken care
To perpetuate the remembrance thereof
By an alms to the poor and a sermon;
By this means
Raising to himself a Monument
More durable than Brass.
The thund'ring Cannon sent forth from its mouth the devouring Flames
Against my Household Gods, and yours, O Newark.
The Ball, thus thrown, Involved the House in Ruin;
But by a Divine Admonition from Heaven I was saved,
Being thus delivered by a strength Greater than that of Hercules,
And having been drawn out of the deep Clay,
I now inhabit the stars on high.
Now, Rebel, direct thy unavailing Fires at Heaven,
Art thou afraid to fight against God--thou
Who hast been a Murderer of His People?
Thou durst not, Coward, scatter thy Flames
Whilst Charles is lord of earth and skies.
Also of his beloved wife
Mary (by the gift of God)
Partaker of the same felicity.
Wee too made one by his decree
That is but one in Trinity,
Did live as one till death came in
And made us two of one agen;
Death was much blamed for our divorce,
But striving how he might doe worse
By killing th' one as well as th' other,
He fairely brought us both togeather,
Our soules together where death dare not come,
Our bodyes lye interred beneath this tomb,
Wayting the resurrection of the just,
O knowe thyself (O man), thou art but dust.[1]
[1] "Annals of Newark-upon-Trent," by Cornelius Brown, published 1879.
It is stated that Charles II., in a gay moment asked Rochester to write
his epitaph. Rochester immediately wrote:--
Here lies the mutton-eating king,
Whose word no man relied on;
Who never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one.