Gleanings in Graveyards Part 44

On a Man and his Wife.

Stay, bachelor, if you have wit, A wonder to behold: Husband and wife, in one dark pit, Lie still and never scold.

Tread softly tho' for fear she wakes;- Hark, she begins already: You've hurt my head;-my shoulder akes; These sots can ne'er move steady.

Ah friend, with happy freedom blest!

See how my hopes miscarry'd: Not death can give me rest, Unless you die unmarry'd.

Here lie the remains of Thomas Woodhen, The most amiable of Husbands, and the most excellent of men.

"_N.B._-The name is Woodc.o.c.k, but it would'nt come in rhyme!"

On Marshal Sare.

N.B.-The figures are to be p.r.o.nounced in French as un, deux, trois, etc.

Ses vertus le feront admire de chac 1 Il avait des Rivaux, mais il triompha 2 Les Batailles qu'il gagna sont au nombre de 3 Pour Louis son grand cur se serait mis en 4 En amour, c'etait peu pour lui d'aller a 5 Nous l'aurions s'il n'eut fait que le berger Tir' 6 Pour avoir trop souvent pa.s.se douze "Hie-ja" 7 Il a cesse de vivre en Decembre 8 Strasbourg contient son corps dans un Tombeau tout 9 Pour tant de "Te Deum" pas un "De profun" 10 --- He died at the age of 55

_a_. Tircis, the name of a celebrated Arcadian shepherd.

_b_. A great personage of the day remarked that it was a pity after the Marshal had by his victories been the cause of so many "Te Deums," that it would not be allowed (the Marshal dying in the Lutheran faith) to chant one "de profundis," over his remains.

On Thomas Jones.

Here for the nonce, Came _Thomas Jones_, In St. Giles's Church to lye; Non Welch before, None Welchman more, Till Show Clerk dy.

He tole his bell, He ring his knell.

He dyed well, He's sav'd from h.e.l.l, And so farewell,

Tom Jones.

On Dr. Walker, who wrote a book called "Particles:"-

Here lie Walker's Particles.

The tomb of Keats the Poet.

This grave contains all that was mortal of a young English Poet, who on his death bed, in the bitterness of his heart at the malicious power of his enemies, desired these words to be engraved on his tombstone: "Here lies one whose name was writ in water."

February 24, 1821.

On Mr. Quin.

Says Epicure Quin, Should the devil in h.e.l.l, In fishing for men take delight, His hook bait with ven'son, I love it so well, Indeed I am sure I should bite.

Here lies Sir John Plumpudding of the Grange, Who hanged himself one morning for a change.

On John Bell.

I Jocky Bell o' Braikenbrow, lyes under this stane, Five of my awn sons laid it on my wame; I liv'd aw my dayes, but sturt or strife, Was man o' my meat, and master o' my wife.

If you done better in your time, than I did in mine, Take this stane aff my wame, and lay it on o' thine.

On Mr. Havard, Comedian.

"An honest man's the n.o.blest work of G.o.d."

Havard from sorrow rest beneath this stone; An honest man-beloved as soon as known; However defective in the mimic art, In real life he justly played his part!

The n.o.blest character he acted well, And heaven applauded when the curtain fell.

On Robin Masters, Undertaker.

Here lieth Robin Masters-Faith 'twas hard To take away our honest Robin's breath; Yet surely Robin was full well prepared, Robin was always looking out for death.

On an Undertaker.

Subdued by death, here death's great herald lies, And adds a trophy to his victories; Yet sure he was prepared, who, while he'd breath, Made it his business to look for death.

On a Cobler.

Death at a cobler's door oft made a stand, And always found him on the mending hand; At last came Death, in very dirty weather, And ripp'd the sole from off the upper leather.

Death put a trick upon him, and what was't?

The cobler called for's awl, Death brought his last.