Gleanings in Graveyards Part 19

ST. ANDREW'S.

On Walter Good.

A thing here singular this doth unfold, Name and nature due proportion hold; In real goodness who did live his days, He cannot fail to die well, to his praise.

ST. GILES, CRIPPLEGATE.

On Gervase Aire.

Under this marble fair, Lies the body entomb'd of Gervase Aire: He dyd not of an ague fit, Nor surfeited by too much wit, Methinks this was a wondrous death, That Aire should die for want of breath.

ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL.

On Sir Henry Croft.

Six lines this image shall delineate:- High Croft, high borne, in spirit & in virtue high, Approv'd, belov'd, a Knight, stout Mars his mate, Love's fire, war's flame, in heart, head, hand, & eye; Which flame war's comet, grace, now so refines, That pined in Heaven, in Heaven and Earth it s.h.i.+nes.

HENDON.

Poor Ralph lies beneath this roof, and sure he must be blest, For though he could do nothing, he meant to do the best, Think of your soules, ye guilty throng, Who, knowing what is right, do wrong.

On Mr. Sand.

Who would live by others' breath?

Fame deceives the dead man's trust.

Even our names much change by death, Sand I was, but now am Dust.

On Robert Thomas Crosfield, M.D. 1802, written by himself.

Beneath this stone Tom Crosfield lies, Who cares not now who laughs or cries; He laughed when sober, and, when mellow, Was a harum scarum heedless fellow; He gave to none design'd offence; So "Honi soit qui mal y pense!"

EDMONTON.

In the churchyard on a headstone now removed, was the following inscription to William Newberry, who was hostler to an inn & died 1695, in consequence of having taken improper medicine given him by a fellow servant.

Hic jacet-Newberry Will Vitam finivit-c.u.m Cochi Pill Quis administravit-Bellamy Sue Quantum quant.i.tat-nescio, scisne tu?

Ne sutor ultra crepidam.

LAMBETH.

R. Brigham.

The Father, Mother, Daughter, in one Grave, Lye slumbering here beneath the marble Stone; Three, one in Love, in Tomb, in hope to have A joyful sight of him that's Three in One.

HILLINGDON.

On Stephen King.

Farewell, vain world, I knew enough of thee, And now am careless what thou say'st of me, Thy smiles I court not, nor thy frowns I fear, My soul's at rest, my head lies quiet here.

What faults you see in me, take care to shun, And look at home, enough's there to be done.

ISLINGTON.

TRANSCRIPT OF AN INSCRIPTION

With the abbreviations and spelling, as it was taken from the plate itself, June 28th, 1751.

I pye the Crysten man that hast goe to see this: to pye for the soulls of them that here buryed is | And remember that in Cryst we be bretherne: the wich hath comaundid eu'ry man to py for other | This sayth _Robert Midleton & Johan_ his Wyf.

Here wrappid in clay. Abiding the mercy | Of Almyghty G.o.d till domesdaye.

Wych was sutyme s'unt to s' gorge hasting knyght | Erle of huntingdunt pa.s.sid this tnscitory lyf, in the yere of our Lord G.o.d m cccc...... | And the......day of the moneth of ......

On whose soull Almyghty G.o.d have m'cy amen |

"This Inscription (says a writer in _The Gentleman's Magazine_, for 1751) was in _Gothic_ letters, on a plate of bra.s.s, in the middle aisle, on the floor near the entrance into the chancel. It contains six lines, the end of each is marked thus |; and it appears to have been laid down in the life-time of _Robert Midleton_, because neither the year, day, nor month are set down, but s.p.a.ces left for that purpose. I observe, that the inhabitants of Islington want to make their church older than I presume it is, and quote this inscription as it is in _Strype_, 1401, in support of that notion, when it is plain 1500, and is all that it says; and Sir G. Hastings was not created Earl of _Huntingdon_ till the 8th of December, 1529, so that this inscription must be wrote after that time. The oldest date that appears anywhere about the church, is at the south-east corner of the steeple, and was not visible till the west gallery was pulled down, it is 1483; but as these figures are of a modern shape, it looks as if it was done in the last century; the old way of making these characters was in _Arabic_, and not as they are now generally made."

She's gone: so, reader, must you go. But where?

On Lady Molesworth.