Alas! alas! _Will Scriviner’s_ dead, who by his art Could make death’s skeleton edible in each part; Mourn, squeamish stomachs, and ye curious palates, You’ve lost your dainty dishes and your salades; Mourn for yourselves, but not for him i’ th’ least, He’s gone to taste of a more Heav’nly feast. Northamptonshire. BARNWELL. An Innkeeper. Man’s life is like a winter’s day, Some only breakfast and away; Others to dinner stay and are full fed, The oldest man but sups and goes to bed; Large is his debt who lingers out the day, Who goes the soonest has the least to pay; Death is the waiter, some few run on tick, And some, alas! must pay the bill to Nick! Tho’ I owe’d much, I hope long trust is given, And truly mean to pay all debts in Heaven. PETERBOROUGH. Sir Richard Worme. Does worm eat Worm? Knight Worme this truth confirms, For here, with worms, lies Worme, a dish for worms. Does worm eat Worme? sure Worme will this deny, For Worme with worms, a dish for worms don’t lie. ’Tis so, and ’tis not so, for free from worms, ’Tis certain Worme is blest without his worms. * * * * * Jane Parker. Heare lyeth a midwife brought to bed, Deliveresse delivered; Her body being churched here, Her soule gives thanks in yonder sphere. STAVERTON. Here lies the body of Betty Bowden, Who would live longer, but she couden; Sorrow and grief made her decay, Till her bad leg card her away. GAYTON. William Houghton. Neere fourscore years have I tarryed To this mother to be marryed; One wife I had, and children ten, God bless the living. Amen, Amen. NORTHAMPTON. Pray for me, old Thomas Dunn, But if you don’t, ’tis all one. * * * * * Here lies the corpse of Susan Lee, Who died of heartfelt pain; Because she loved a faithless he, Who loved not her again. Nottinghamshire. ALVERTON. Beneath the droppings of this spout, {80a} Here lies the body once so stout, Of FRANCIS THOMPSON. A soul this carcase long possess’d, Which for its virtue was caress’d, By all who knew the owner best. The _Rufford_ {80b} records can declare His actions, who, for seventy year, Both drew and drank its potent beer. Fame mention not in all that time, In this great Butler the least crime, To stain his reputation. To Envy’s self we now appeal, If aught of fault she can reveal, To make her declaration. Then rest, good shade, nor hell nor vermin fear; Thy virtues guard thy soul—thy body good strong beer. He died July 6, 1739, aged 83. NEWARK.