My wife lies here beneath,
Alas! from me she's flown;
She was so good that death
Would have her for his own.
In Churchyard, Isle of Thanet :—
Mark well, gay youth, and hoary age attend,
The silent lesson of a common friend.
Since time and life speed hastily away,
And neither can recall the former day,
Improve each fleeting hour before 'tis past,
And know each beating pulse may be the last.
In Whitby Churchyard :
Sudden and unexpected was the end
Of our esteemed and beloved friend;
He gave to all his friends a sudden shock
By one day falling into Sunderland Dock !
In East Dereham Church, Norfolk, on Cowper, the poet :-
Ye who with warmth the public triumph feel,
Of talents dignified by sacred zeal,
Here to devotion's bard, devoutly just,
Pay the fond tribute due to Cowper's dust;
England exulting in his matchless fame,
Ranks with her dearest sons his sacred name.
Sense, fancy, wit, suffice not all to raise
So clear a title to affection's praise.
His highest honours to the heart belong
His virtues formed the magic of his song.
Here lyes the corps of Margret Robrean.
And many of them that slept in the dust of the earth shall awake,
Some to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt.
In Greyfriars' Churchyard, Edinburgh :
Ci-git ma femme, fort bien,
Pour son repos et pour le mien.
Here, snug in grave, my wife doth lie,
Now she's at rest, and so am I.
In Wolverhampton Churchyard, on a violinist :—
Exalted soul, thy various sounds could please
The love-sick virgin, and the gouty ease,
And jarring crowds, like old Amphion, move
To beauteous order and harmonious love.
Now rest in peace till angels bid thee rise,
And join thy Saviour's consort in the skies.
In Anstruther Churchyard, on David Barclay :-
Here lies ane wight ca'd David Barclay,
Weel sepulcher'd amang his hard clay;
Sma' man he was, whan he did flourish-
He was but beadle o' this parish,
And mendit soles, and chimlas soopit,
And blew mouse-wabs frae aff the pupit ;
But now, when cramm'd in this wee partie,
He's just as great as Bonaparte !
Nae difference, save that David here
At hame sleeps 'mang his kindred dear,
Wi' ilka star that kent him livin',
Blinkin' upon him blythe frae heaven :
Whereas the Emperor rots afar
At the warld's end, 'neath IHydra's star,
'Mang foreign worms that keen devour him,
And the cauld south-pole skytin' owre him.
This Barclay was a canty chappie,
Skull-handlin' made him nae less happy:
'Twas but his trade was melancholy,
His spirit aye was blythe and jolly.
King George the Third that ruled this land,
Wi' a braw sceptre in his hand,
And George's ilka son and daughter
Ne'er took sic hearty gaups o' laughter.
I meikle doubt if a' the thrang
O' kings that in braid Europe rang,
Frae that black-starr'd year achty-nine,
E'en till the day I write this line,
Enjoy'd their lives wi' sic ane gust
As David wha sleeps here in dust;
Sae, to be merry in this widdle,
Ilk station serves-heigh, laigh, and middle :
It's a' ae woo-king, lord, or beadle!
And let a man be mean or glorious,
Owre armies, or auld shoon, victorious,
Wield swords on fields, or awls on stools,
A' dree alike Death's dreary dools,
And land at length amang the mools!
In the Parish Church, St. Leonards, Hythe, Kent :
Giles Collyns Gent: Had to wife Margaret Davghter of John Tailor of Shadocshurst Gent: By whom He had issv 5 Sonns & 5 Davghters. Having passed 64 yeares Deceased in October anno 1586.
His life and Dayes in vertuous wayes
Well spent, hee well did end
And ending so his soule to go
To God he did commend.
So that at rest his soule is blest
And lives with God in skyes,
Although by death now turned to earth
His body buried lyes.
In Totteridge Churchyard, near Barnet:-
She repeatedly prayed to be evicted,
For twenty-nine years she was afflicted,
And it was her wish to lie beneath
this ancient tree.
Here lieth the body of Nicholas Hookes, of Conway, gentleman, who was the one-and-fortieth child of his father, William Hookes, Esq., by Alice, his wife, and the father of seven-and-twenty children.
In Ipswich Churchyard, on one Lamb, a butcher :-
Beneath this stone lies a Lamb asleep.
Who died a Lamb and lived a sheep;
Many a lamb and sheep he slaughtered;
But butcher Death the scene has altered.
the burying-place of the McNabs, Killin :--
Remember, man, as you pass by
As you are now so once was L
Time was, like you, I life possess'd,
And time shall be when you must rest.
Death is the gate through which you pass,
Eternity when ended is your glass.
Therefore on God and on his Word rely,
That through this gate you may pass joyfully.
On parents' knees a naked new born child
Weeping thou sat'st while all around thee smil'd:
So live that sinking in thy final sleep
Calm thou may'st smile while all around thee weep.
In Weem Churchyard, near Aberfeldy, Perthshire :
In memory of Captain James Carmichael of Bockland's Regiment.Died 25th Nov. 1758 :
Where now O Son of Mars is Honour's aim ?
What once thou wast or wished, no more's thy claim.
Thy tomb Carmichael tells thy Honour's Roll,
And man is born as thee to be forgot,
But virtue lives to glaze thy honours o'er,
And Heaven will smile when brittle stone's no more.
Weep not for me dear wife,
Nor yet my friends so dear,
For I have gained eternal life,
And all is pleasure here.
In Falkland Churchyard, Fifeshire :
In sepulchre within Amelia Geddes lyes
By Faith in Jesus her death did not surprise
Becaus' by Grace had vertue great in store,
Her wit renewed, her lyf did sin abhor
She wakt with God, in spirit worshipt, true
Exemplary to all her sex, age and you'
Born in the year 1665
Whom troubles then did greatly drive
Her course was finish'd in 1681
And entered Glorie in due tyme.
Our life is frail, at every breath
Wee'r soon deprived of it by death.
Youth, beautie, streangth, when God doth call
All must obey, both great and small.
This is our hope, Death's but a sleep,
Our very dust He'l surely keep
Who, as we know, was laid in grave
That even in death we life might have.
Allellujah. 1674.
In Balquidder Churchyard :
How loved, how valued once, avails thee not,
To whom related or by whom begot,
A heap of dust alone remains of thee.
'Tis that thou art, 'tis all the proud shall be.
These walls, adorned with monumental bust,
Show how Bath waters serve to lay the dust.
In Dunfermline Churchyard :
Reader, see how death all down pulls,
And nought remains but shanks and skulls,
For the greatest champion ere drew breath
Was all wise conquered by death.
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