Gleanings in Graveyards Part 18

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 c.u.m 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 compet.i.tor. 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.

Middles.e.x.

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 h.e.l.l; 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.