This harmless dove, our tender love, Flew from this world of vice, To peace and rest, for ever blest, With Christ in Paradise. ST. PAUL’S CHURCHYARD, MOUSEHOLE. On Dolly Pentreath. Old Doll Pentreath, one hundred age and two, Both born and in Paul parish buried too; Not in the church ’mongst people great and high, But in the church-yard doth old Dolly lie! STRATTON. Life’s like an Inn, think man this truth upon, Some only breakfast and are quickly gone; Others to dinner stay and are full fed, The oldest man but sups and goes to bed. Large is his score who tarries through the day, Who goes the soonest has the least to pay. SOUTH PETHERWIN. Beneath this stone lies Humphrey and Joan, Who together rest in peace, Living indeed, They disagreed, But now all quarrels cease. LANDULPH. Here lyeth the body of Theodore Paleologus, of Pesaro, in Italye, descended from the imperyal line of the last Christian Emperor of Greece, being the sonne of Camillo, the sonne of Prosper, the sonne of Theodore, the sonne of John, the sonne of Thomas, the second brother of Constantine Paleologus, that rayned in Constantinople until subdued by the Turks, who married with Mary, the daughter of William Ball, of Hadlye, in Suffolk, gent., and had issue five children, Theodore, John, Ferdinando, Maria, and Dorothy; and departed this life at Clyfton, the 21st of January, 1636. * * * * * On Sir Francis Vere. When Vere sought death, arm’d with his sword and shield, Death was afraid to meet him in the field; But when his weapons he had laid aside, Death, like a coward, struck him, and he died. ST. AGNES. Here lies the body of Joan Carthew, Born at St. Columb, died at St. Cue, Children she had five, Three are dead, and two alive, Those that are dead chusing rather To die with their Mother, than live with their Father. GUNWALLOE. Read backwards or forwards— Shall we all die? We shall die all. All die shall we— Die all we shall. GRADE. Date 1671. Why here?—why not, it’s all one ground, And here none will my dust confound. My Saviour lay where no one did— Why not a member as his head, No quire to sing, no bells to ring, Why so thus buried was my king. I grudge the fashion of the day To fat the church and stane the lay, Though nothing now of the be seen, I hope my name and bed be green. CALSTOCK. James Berlinner, killed at Huel Bedford, 1844.