On a Welchman, Killed by a Fall from his Horse.

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 G.o.d & men & conscience: Peace for other men he sought, And peace with pieces sometimes bought.

Pacifici, may others bee, But ex pace factro hee.

Ann Mitch.e.l.l.

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 Soule from h.e.l.l; Have Mercy of the Soule 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 smoked 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 sh.e.l.l, If he had any soul 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 a.s.s (by the late late Dr. Jenner).

Beneath this hugh hillock here lies a poor creature, So gentle, so easy, so harmless his nature; On earth by kind Heav'n he surely was sent, To teach erring mortals the road to content; Whatever befel him, he bore his hard fate, Nor envied the steed in his high pamper'd state; Though homely his fare was, he'd never repine; On a dock could he breakfast, on thistles could dine; No matter how coa.r.s.e or unsavoury his salad, Content made the flavour suit well with his palate.

Now, Reader, depart, and, as onward you pa.s.s, Reflect on the lesson you've heard from an a.s.s.

On a Henpecked Country Squire.

As father Adam first was fool'd, A case that's still too common, Here lies a man a woman rul'd, The devil rul'd the woman.

On a Potter.

How frail is man-how short life's longest day!

Here lies the worthy Potter, turned to clay!

Whose forming hand, and whose reforming care, Has left us full of flaws. Vile earthenware!

It was his usual custom in company when he told anything, to ask, d'ye hear? and if any one said no, John would reply, no matter, I've said.

Death came to John And whisper'd in his ear, You must die John, D'ye hear?

Quoth John to Death The news is bad.

No matter, quoth Death, I've said.

Punning Epitaph.

Cecil Clay, the counsellor of Chesterfield, caused this whimsical allusion or pun upon his name to be put upon his grave-stone;-Two cyphers of C. C. and underneath, Sum quod fui, "I am what I was."

Oldys thus translates from Camden an epitaph upon a tippling red-nosed ballad maker, of the time of Shakespeare:-

Dead drunk, here Elderton doth lie: Dead as he is, he still is dry; So of him it may well be said, Here he, but not his thirst, is laid.