Cornwall.
TRURO.
A Dyer born, a dyer bred,
Lies numbered here among the dead;
Dyers, like mortals doomed to die,
Alike fit food for worms supply.
Josephus Dyer was his name,
By dyeing he acquired fame;
’Twas in his forty-second year,
His neighbours kind did him inter.
Josephus Dyer, his first son,
Doth also lie beneath this stone;
So likewise doth his second boy,
Who was his parents’ hope and joy.
His handiwork did all admire,
For never was a better dyer.
Both youths were in their fairest prime,
Ripe fruitage of a healthful clime;
But nought can check Death’s lawless aim,
Whosoever life he choose to claim;
It was God’s edict from the throne,
“My will upon earth shall be done.”
Then did the active mother’s skill
The vacancy with credit fill,
Till she grew old, and weak, and blind,
And this last wish dwelt on her mind—
That she, when dead, should buried be
With her loved spouse and family,
At last Death’s arm her strength defied;
Thus all the dyeing Dyers died.
“A prolonged medical statement of the disease of which the departed may chance to have died, is extremely popular. At Acton, in Cornwall, there is this particular account of how one Mr. Morton came by his end:—
“Here lies entombed one Roger Morton,
Whose sudden death was early brought on;
Trying one day his corn to mow off,
The razor slipped and cut his toe off:
The toe, or rather what it grew to,
An inflammation quickly flew to;
The parts they took to mortifying,
And poor dear Roger took to dying.”
“Here is what a Cornish gentleman finds it in his heart to inscribe upon his dear departed:—
“My wife is dead, and here she lies,
No man laughs and no man cries,
Where she’s gone, or how she fares,
Nobody knows and nobody cares.”
PENRYN.
Here lies William Smith,
And what is somewhat rarish,
He was born, bred, and
Hanged in this parish.
CALSTOCK.
Susanna Jones,
1812.
All you that read those lines
Would stop awhile and think,
That I am in eternity,
And you are on the brink.
This harmless dove, our tender love,
Flew from this world of vice,
To peace and rest, for ever blest,
With Christ in Paradise.
ST. PAUL’S CHURCHYARD, MOUSEHOLE.
On Dolly Pentreath.
Old Doll Pentreath, one hundred age and two,
Both born and in Paul parish buried too;
Not in the church ’mongst people great and high,
But in the church-yard doth old Dolly lie!
STRATTON.
Life’s like an Inn, think man this truth upon,
Some only breakfast and are quickly gone;
Others to dinner stay and are full fed,
The oldest man but sups and goes to bed.
Large is his score who tarries through the day,
Who goes the soonest has the least to pay.
SOUTH PETHERWIN.
Beneath this stone lies Humphrey and Joan,
Who together rest in peace,
Living indeed,
They disagreed,
But now all quarrels cease.
LANDULPH.
Here lyeth the body of Theodore Paleologus, of Pesaro, in Italye, descended from the imperyal line of the last
Christian Emperor of Greece, being the sonne of Camillo, the sonne of Prosper, the sonne of Theodore, the sonne of John, the sonne of Thomas, the second brother of Constantine Paleologus, that rayned in Constantinople until subdued by the Turks, who married with Mary, the daughter of William Ball, of Hadlye, in Suffolk, gent., and had issue five children, Theodore, John, Ferdinando, Maria, and Dorothy; and departed this life at Clyfton, the 21st of January, 1636.
On Sir Francis Vere.
When Vere sought death, arm’d with his sword and shield,
Death was afraid to meet him in the field;
But when his weapons he had laid aside,
Death, like a coward, struck him, and he died.
ST. AGNES.
Here lies the body of Joan Carthew,
Born at St. Columb, died at St. Cue,
Children she had five,
Three are dead, and two alive,
Those that are dead chusing rather
To die with their Mother, than live with their Father.
GUNWALLOE.
Read backwards or forwards—
Shall we all die?
We shall die all.
All die shall we—
Die all we shall.
GRADE.
Date 1671.
Why here?—why not, it’s all one ground,
And here none will my dust confound.
My Saviour lay where no one did—
Why not a member as his head,
No quire to sing, no bells to ring,
Why so thus buried was my king.
I grudge the fashion of the day
To fat the church and stane the lay,
Though nothing now of the be seen,
I hope my name and bed be green.
CALSTOCK.
James Berlinner, killed at Huel Bedford, 1844.
Consider well both old and young,
Who by my grave do pass,
Death soon may come with his keen scythe,
And cut you down like grass.
Tho’ some of you perhaps may think
From danger to be free,
Yet in a moment may be sent,
Into the grave like me.
William Kellaway,
1822.
My body is turned to dust,
As yours that living surely must,
Both rich and poor to dust must fall,
To rise again, when Christ doth call.
Farewell, dear husband, I bid adieu,
I leave nine children to God and you;
I hope you’ll live in peace and love,
I trust we all shall meet above.
Tho’ months and years in pain and tears,
Through troubled paths I’ve trod,
My Saviour’s voice bids me rejoice,
And calls my soul to God.
ST. NEOT.
Here lieth the body of John Robyns, of this parish, buried the 27th day of December, 1724, about the 80th year of his age.
“Prosopeia Defuncti.”
“Mark thou that readest, and my case behold,
Ere long thou shalt be closed in death’s fold,
As well as I; nothing on earth can save
Our mortal bodies, from the darksome grave.
Then timely think thereon, to mind thy end;
Wisely to be prepared when God shall send
To fetch thee hence; and then thou shalt but die,
To live at rest with Christ eternally.
“Here lieth John Robyns, in his bed of dust,
Who in the Lord did ever put his trust;
And dying, gave a pension to the poor,
Yearly for ever, which unlocks the door
Of everlasting bliss, for him to reign
With Christ his head, his great, and truest gain:
And with the holy angels sit and sing
Eternal anthems to the heavenly king.”
“If this stone be not kept in repair,
The legacy devolves unto his heir.”
BODMIN.
Here lies the Body of John Meadow,
His life passed away like a shadow.
TRURO.
Here lies we
Babies three,
Here we must lie
Until the Lord do cry,
“Come out, and, live wi’ I!”