My Eyes were Blinded I could not see, My Parents they did weep for Me, My Time was come I was Forced to go, And bid the World and Them Adieu. Just six and thirty hours I lay In great Pain and Agony, Till the Archangel bid me come, And called my Soul to its last Home. CHICHESTER. A certain noble lord of no very moral life, dying, had inscribed upon his tomb, the phrase, “Ultima Domus,”—Collins, the poet, is said to have pencill’d those lines under the words:— Did he who wrote upon this wall, Believe or disbelieve St. Paul? Who says where-er it is or stands, There is another house not made with hands, Or do we gather from these words, That house is not a house of lords? * * * * * Here lies an old soldier whom all must applaud, Who fought many battles at home and abroad; But the hottest engagement he ever was in, Was the conquest of self in the battle of sin. BEXHILL. On a Young Lady. I lay me down to rest me, And pray to God to bless me, And if I sleep and never wake, I pray to God my soul to take This night for Evermore—Amen. WEST GRINSTEAD. Vast Strong was I, but yet did dye, And in my Grave asleep I Lye, My Grave is Stoned all round about, But I hope the Lord will find me out. MAYFIELD. Oh reader! if that thou can’st read Look down upon this stone; Do all we can, Death is a man, What never spareth none. STORRINGTON. Here lies the body of Edward Hide, We laid him here because he died, We had rather It been his father, If it had been his sister We should not have missed her, But since ’tis honest Ned, No more shall be said. * * * * * Here lies my poor wife, without bed or blanket, But dead as a door nail, God be thanked. LAVANT. Mr. Samford, Blacksmith. My Sledge and hammer lie reclined, My Bellows, too, have lost their wind; My fire’s extinct, my forge decayed, And in the dust my vice is laid; My coal is spent, my iron gone, My nails are drove, my work is done. EAST GRINSTEAD. I was as grass that did grow up, And wither’d before it grew, As Snails do waste within their Shells, So the number of my days were few. RODMELL. Elizabeth Ellis (1757). If love and virtue doth conduce to grace the fair, These was once possessed by her who lieth here; But alas! by fate the object of her love was drowned. By death surprized in trying to save a hound. Which such effect had on her tender mind It brought her into a deep decline. With him her transitory bliss is fled, And she a cold companion of the dead. Since this catastrophe cannot fail to show How uncertain all earthly joys are here below. BRIGHTON.