[Sidenote: Dol. _I warrant ye the_ Pharises _carried it away._] There's _Oxford's_ Countess, and there also The Lady _Burleigh_ her Mother; And there her Daughter, a Countess too, Lie close by one another. These once were bonny Dames, and tho' There were no Coaches then, Yet could they jog their Tails themselves, Or had them jogg'd by Men. [Sidenote: Dick. _Ho, ho, ho, I warrant ye they did as other Women did, ha_ Ralf. Ralf. _Oy, Oy._] But woe is me! those high born Sinners; That went to pray so stoutly; Are now laid low, and 'cause they can't, Their Statues pray devoutly. This is the Dutchess of _Somerset_, By Name the Lady _Ann_; Her Lord _Edward_ the Sixth Protected, Oh! he was a Gallant Man. [Sidenote: Tom. _I have heard a Ballad of him sang at_ Ratcliff Cross. Mol. _I believe we have it at home over our Kitchin Mantle-Tree._] In this fair Monument which you see, Adorn'd with so many Pillars; Doth lie the Countess of _Buckingham_, And her Husband, Sir _George Villers_. This old Sir _George_ was Grandfather, And the Countess she was Granny; To the great Duke of _Buckingham_, Who often topt King _Jammy_. Sir _Robert Eatam_, a _Scotch_ Knight, This Man was Secretary; And scribl'd Compliments for two Queens, Queen _Ann_, and eke Queen _Mary_. This was the Countess of _Lenox_, Yclep'd the Lady _Marget_: King _James's_ Grandmother, and yet 'Gainst Death she had no Target. This was Queen _Mary_, Queen of _Scots_, Whom _Buchanan_ doth bespatter; She lost her Head at _Tottingham_, What ever was the Matter. [Sidenote: Dol. _How came she here then?_ Will. _Why ye silly Oafe could not she be brought here, after she was Dead?_] The Mother of our Seventh _Henry_, This is that lyeth hard by; She was the Countess wot ye well, Of _Richmond_ and of _Derby_. _Henry_ the Seventh lieth here, With his fair Queen beside him, He was the Founder of this Chapel, Oh! may no ill betide him. Therefore his Monument's in Brass, You'll say that very much is; The Duke of _Richmond_ and _Lenox_, There lieth with his Dutchess. [Sidenote: Rog. _I warrant ye these were no small Fools in those days._] And here they stand upright in a Press With Bodies made of Wax; With a Globe and a Wand in either Hand, And their Robes upon their Backs. Here lies the Duke of _Buckingham_, And the Dutchess his Wife; Him _Felton_ Stabb'd at _Portsmouth_ Town, And so he lost his Life. Two Children of King _James_ these are, Whom Death keeps very chary; _Sophia_ in the Cradle lies, And this is the Lady _Mary_. [Sidenote: Bess. _Good Woman pray still your Child, it keeps such a bawling, we can't hear what the Man says._] And this is Queen _Elizabeth_, How the _Spaniards_ did infest her? Here she lies Buried, with Queen _Mary_, And now agrees with her Sister. To another Chapel now we come, The People follow and chat; This is the Lady _Cottington_, And the People cry, who's that?