Consider well both old and young, Who by my grave do pass, Death soon may come with his keen scythe, And cut you down like grass. Tho’ some of you perhaps may think From danger to be free, Yet in a moment may be sent, Into the grave like me. * * * * * William Kellaway, 1822. My body is turned to dust, As yours that living surely must, Both rich and poor to dust must fall, To rise again, when Christ doth call. * * * * * Elizabeth Roskelly, 1844. Farewell, dear husband, I bid adieu, I leave nine children to God and you; I hope you’ll live in peace and love, I trust we all shall meet above. Tho’ months and years in pain and tears, Through troubled paths I’ve trod, My Saviour’s voice bids me rejoice, And calls my soul to God. ST. NEOT. Here lieth the body of John Robyns, of this parish, buried the 27th day of December, 1724, about the 80th year of his age. “Prosopeia Defuncti.” “Mark thou that readest, and my case behold, Ere long thou shalt be closed in death’s fold, As well as I; nothing on earth can save Our mortal bodies, from the darksome grave. Then timely think thereon, to mind thy end; Wisely to be prepared when God shall send To fetch thee hence; and then thou shalt but die, To live at rest with Christ eternally. “Here lieth John Robyns, in his bed of dust, Who in the Lord did ever put his trust; And dying, gave a pension to the poor, Yearly for ever, which unlocks the door Of everlasting bliss, for him to reign With Christ his head, his great, and truest gain: And with the holy angels sit and sing Eternal anthems to the heavenly king.” “If this stone be not kept in repair, The legacy devolves unto his heir.” BODMIN. Here lies the Body of John Meadow, His life passed away like a shadow. TRURO. Here lies we Babies three, Here we must lie Until the Lord do cry, “Come out, and, live wi’ I!” Derbyshire. BAKEWELL. On a defunct Parish Clerk. The vocal Powers here let us mark, Of Philip our late Parish Clerk, In Church was ever heard a layman, With clearer voice say Amen? Who now with Hallelujah sound Like him can make the roofs rebound? The Choir lament his choral tones; The town so soon here lie his bones. Sleep undisturbed within thy peaceful shrine, Till angels wake thee with such notes as thine. Devonshire. STOKE FLEMING. By Dr. Walcot, alias Peter Pindar. To the Memory of Margaret Southcotte, who died the 27th of August, 1786, aged 12 years and 9 months.