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. On which the King wrote the following comment:-- If death could speak, the king would say, In justice to his crown, His _acts_ they were the minister's, His words they were his own. Our friend, Mr. Thomas Broadbent Trowsdale, F.R.H.S., who has written much and well in history, folk-lore, etc., tells us: "In the fine old church of Chepstow, Monmouthshire, nearly opposite the reading desk, is a memorial stone with the following curious acrostic inscription, in capital letters:-- HERE SEPT. 9TH, 1680, WAS BURIED A TRUE BORN ENGLISHMAN, Who, in Berkshire, was well known To love his country's freedom 'bove his own: But being immured full twenty year Had time to write, as doth appear-- HIS EPITAPH. H ere or elsewhere (all's one to you or me) E arth, Air, or Water gripes my ghostly dust, N one knows how soon to be by fire set free; R eader, if you an old try'd rule will trust, Y ou'll gladly do and suffer what you must. M y time was spent in serving you and you, A nd death's my pay, it seems, and welcome too; R evenge destroying but itself, while I T o birds of prey leave my old cage and fly; E xamples preach to the eye--care then, (mine says) N ot how you end, but how you spend your days.