Gleanings in Graveyards: A Collection of Curious EpitaphsNorfolk, Horatio Edward
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Gleanings in Graveyards: A Collection of Curious Epitaphs
Norfolk, Horatio Edward
Epitaphs; Epitaphs -- Great Britain
Here lies interr’d, beneath these stones,
David ap-Morgan, ap-Shenkin, ap-Jones;
Hur was born in Wales, hur was travell’d in France,
And hur went to heaven—by a bad mischance.
* * * * *
Card Table Epitaph on a Lady, whose Ruin and Death
were caused by gaming.
Clarissa reign’d the _Queen_ of _Hearts_,
Like _sparkling Diamonds_ were her eyes;
But through the _Knave_ of _Clubs_, false arts,
Here bedded by a _Spade_ she lies.
* * * * *
Reader, in that peace of earth,
In peace rest Thomas Arrowsmith.
In peace he lived, in peace went hence,
With God & men & conscience:
Peace for other men he sought,
And peace with pieces sometimes bought.
Pacifici, may others bee,
But ex pace factro hee.
* * * * *
Ann Mitchell.
Loe here I lye till Trumpets sound,
And Christ for me shall call;
And then I hope to rise again,
And dye no more at all.
* * * * *
O Merciful Jesu that Brought
Mans Sôule from Hell;
Have Mercy of the Sôule
of Jane Bell.
* * * * *
On a very idle Fellow.
Here lieth one that once was born & cried,
Liv’d several years, & then—& then—he died.
* * * * *
On a Great consumer of Bread, Cheese, and Tobacco.
Here gaffer B . . . Jaws are laid at Ease,
Whose Death has dropped the price of Bread & Cheese.
He Eat, he drank, he smoked, and then
He Eat, and drank, and smôked again.
So Modern Patriots, rightly understood,
Live to themselves, and die for Public Good.
* * * * *
Thin in beard, and thick in purse,
Never man beloved worse;
He went to the grave with many a curse:
The devil and he had both one nurse.
* * * * *
They were so one, that none could say
Which of them ruled, or whether did obey,
He ruled, because she would obey; and she,
In so obeying, ruled as well as he.
* * * * *
Good People draw near,
There is no need of a tear,
Merry L . . . is gone to his Bed;
I am placed here to tell,
Where now lies the shêll,
If he had any soûl it is fled.
Make the Bells ring aloud,
And be joyful the croud,
For Mirth was his favourite theme,
Which to Praise he turned Poet,
Its fit you should know it,
Since he has left nothing more than his name.
* * * * *
On an Ass (by the late late Dr. Jenner).
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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