Underneath this turf, in dust is laid, A blooming and a virtuous maid; In virtue’s path she always trod, And trusted in Almighty God. For virtue, modesty, and truth, A perfect patron was for youth; She lived in love, and feared the Lord, We hope her soul has met reward; Lamented was, by great and small, Was crushed underneath a blown down wall— Going to church on the Lord’s day; This maid’s sweet life was snatched away. A tender mother left to mourn, Enough to wound a heart of stone; God grant his blessing to be given, For them to meet again in Heaven. Short was thy life, fair flower, how soon removed, Sudden thy summons to the realms above. Vain man, as well on sands may structors raise, As build on early youth or length of days; A thousand accidents frail life attend, And none can tell how soon this life may end. ’Tis not for age that here she lie, Therefore, in time, prepare to die; Death does not always warning give, Therefore be careful how you live. A headstone that stands about the centre of the ground to the east of the church, and yet bears the name of Lucy Fermor, formerly had on it the following acrostic, now wholly effaced by age:— L ook here, ye gay and giddy throng, U nmindfnl as ye go; C all’d you may be as soon as I, Y oung, strong, and healthy too. F or eighteen years I had not seen E ’er death did cut me down, R eturned to dust as now you see; M ore quick may be your doom. O h do not then forget, your souls R equired may be soon. Perhaps no inscription throughout the whole of the hallowed grounds, affords a theme for deeper meditation than that which here follows, associated as it is with marriages, births, and deaths, through a period of half a century: the plighting of solemn vows, vows how often broken; the promise of suretiship to renounce all evil works, a promise how seldom kept; we may rest in Him, as our hope is this our brother doth, a hope how soon forgotten! It is upon a head-stone, on the left, just within the southern entrance to the Old Ground, and is as follows:— Here lies all that is mortal of JOHN POCOCK, Who was, during 13 years, Clerk of the Chapel Royal, and 38 years Clerk of this Parish. In the discharge of his duty how simple, upright, and affectionate he was, will alone be known at the last day. He came to his grave on the 13th of June, 1846, like a shock of corn cometh in his season, aged 81. The following, which is on a stone by the footway, just south of the tower, has a melancholy history attached to it:— Sacred to the Memory of John Rowles, who, in discharging his duties as a Peace Officer of this Town, was unfortunately killed by a Wound from a Bayonet, on the 5th Nov., 1817, Aged 40 years.