EPITAPHS.

EPITAPHS.

In Wolverhampton Churchyard. Date 1690:

Here lies the bones

Of Joseph Jones,

Who ate whilst he was able;

But once o'erfed,

He drop't down dead,
And fell beneath the table.
When from the tomb,

To meet his doom,

He rises amidst sinners;

Since he must dwell

In heav'n or hell,

Take him-which gives best dinners.

In West Kilbride Churchyard, Ayrshire :—

Here lye the banes of Thomas Tyre,
Wha lang had trudg'd thro' dub and myre,
In carrying bundles and sic like,
His task performing wi' smal fyke;
To deal his snuff Tam aye was free,

An' served his friend for little fee;
In's life obscure was nothing new,
Yet we must own his faults were few;
Although at Yule he sip'd a drap,
An' in the kirk whiles took a nap.

True to his word in every case,

Tam scorned to cheat for lucre base;
Now he's gaen to taste the fare

Which none but honest men can share.

On No. of the Howff of Dundee Churchyard :—

1850

In Memory of James

And another Son

And five other friends
Who died in infancy.
Erected by
James Stewart

Spirit Merchant, Dundee
And his Spouse

And three other children.

In the Old Church, near Christ Church, Bristol :—

Here lieth Thos. Turar, and Mary, his wife. He was twice Master of the Company of Bakers, and twice churchwarden of this parish. He died March 6th, 1654. She died May 8th, 1643.

Like to a baker's oven is the grave,

Wherein the bodyes of the faithful have
A setting in, and where they do remain
In hopes to rise, and to be drawn again ;
Blessed are they who in the Lord are dead,
Though set like dough, they shall be drawn like bread.

In Bow Cemetery :

Oh! the worm, the rich worm has a noble domain,
For where monarchs are voiceless I revel and reign :
I delve at ny ease and regale where I may;
None dispute the poor earthworm his will or his way;
The high and the bright for my feasting must fall;
Youth, beauty, and manhood, I prey on ye all !
The prince and the peasant, the monarch and slave,
All, all must bow down to the worm and the grave.

In an Oxfordshire Churchyard :-
:-

To the memory of B. Richards, who by a gangrene first lost his toe, afterwards a leg, and lastly his life, on the 7th April, 1656.

Ah! cruel death, to make three meals of one!

To taste, and eat, and eat, till all was gone,
But know, thou tyrant! when the trump shall call,
He'll find his feet, and stand when thou shalt fall.