Huntingdonshire.

BLUNTISHAM.

On a Wrestler.

Here lyes the Conqueror conquered,
Valient as ever England bred;
Whom neither art, nor steel, nor strength,
Could e’er subdue, till death at length
Threw him on his back, and here he lyes,
In hopes hereafter to arise.

Kent.

CRAYFORD.

Here lieth the body of Peter Isnel (30 years clerk of this parish.)

He lived respected as a pious and mirthful man, and died on his way to church, to assist at a wedding, on the 31st day of March, 1811, aged 70 years. The inhabitants of Crayford have raised this stone to his cheerful memory, and as a tribute to his long and faithful service.

The life of this clerk was just three score and ten,
Nearly half of which time he had sung out Amen!
In his youth he was married, like other young men,
But his wife died one day, so he chanted Amen!
A second he took—she departed—what then?
He married and buried a third with Amen;
Thus, his joys and his sorrows were treble, but then
His voice was deep bass as he sung out Amen!
On the horn he could blow as well as most men,
So his horn was exalted in blowing Amen;
But he lost all his wind after three score and ten,
And now, with three wives, he waits, till again
The trumpet shall rouse him to sing out Amen!

SNODLAND.

Palmers al our faders were,—
I, a Palmer, lived here,
And travylled till, worne with age,
I endyd this world’s pylgrymage
On the blyst Assention-day,
In the cheerful month of May,
A thousand with foure hundryd seven,
And took my jorney hense to Heven!

SANDWICH.

To Thomas, son of Thomas Danson, late a Preacher
in this town. Born Oct. 23, 1668; died Oct. 23, 1674.

Upon October’s three and twentieth day
The world began, (as learned Annals say,)
That was this child’s birthday, on which he died,
The world’s end may in his be typified:
Oh! happy little world, whose work is done
Before the greater, and his rest begun.

WOOLWICH.

Several years since, an inhabitant of Woolwich died, leaving a testamentary order that his tombstone should be inscribed with the well-known lines:—

Youthful reader, passing by,
As you are now, so once was I,
As I am now, so you must be,
Therefore prepare to follow me.

The widow of the deceased, who did not honour her lord more than the ordinary run of wives, obeyed her late husband’s injunctions, but added a postscript of her own composition—

To follow you I am not content,
Until I know which way you went.

FRINDSBURY.

On Mrs. Lee and her son Tom.

In her life she did her best,
Now, I hope her soul’s at rest;
Also her son Tom lies at her feet,
He liv’d till he made both ends meet.

FOLKESTONE.

Sixteen years a Maiden,
One twelve Months a Wife,
One half hour a Mother,
And then I lost my Life.

ROCHESTER.

Though young she was,
Her youth could not withstand,
Nor her protect from Death’s
Impartial hand.
Like a cobweb, be we e’er so gay,
And death a broom,
That sweeps us all away.

MAIDSTONE.

“Stop ringers all and cast an eye,
You in your glory, so once was I,
What I have been, as you may see,
Which now is in the belfree.”

“God takes the good too good on earth to stay,
And leaves the bad too bad to take away.”

The person was very aged on whose tomb-stone the above was written!

LEE.

In the village churchyard, near the Castle, is a rather singular inscription upon a gravestone, which was put up by the deceased during his life-time; and when first placed there, had blanks, for inserting his age and the time of his death. These blanks have long since been filled up, and the whole now reads as follows:—

“In memory of James Barham, of this parish, who departed this life Jan. 14, 1818, aged 93 years; and who from the year 1774, to the year 1804, rung, in Kent and elsewhere, 112 peals, not less than 5,040 changes in each peal, & called bobs, &c. for most of the peals; & April 7th & 8th, 1761, assisted in ringing 40,320 bob-majors on Leeds-bells, in 27 hours.”

BOBBING.

God gave me at Kinardington in Kent,
My native breath, which now alas is spent,
My parents gave me Tylden Smith for name,
I to the Park farm in this Parish came;
And there for many ling’ring years did dwell,
Whilst my good neighbours did respect me well.
But now my friends, I go by Nature’s call,
In humble hopes my crimes will measure small.
Years following years steal something every day,
And lastly steal us from ourselves away.
Life’s span forbids us to extend our cares,
And stretch our hopes beyond our fleeting years.
Mary Farminger, my wife, from East Marsh place,
Lies mouldering here like me, in hopes of grace.

The following Epitaph is to be found in the parish church of Ightham, erected to Mrs. Selby of the Mote House, Ightham, who was a beautiful worker of Tapestry, whose death is said to have been caused from her pricking her finger when working one Sunday. There is a marble figure of her, holding a steel needle in her hand, and underneath is the following inscription:—

She was a Dorcas,
Whose Curious needle turned the abused stage
Of this lov’d world, into the goldenage,
Whose pen of steele, and silken inck unroll’d
The acts of Jonah in records of gold,
Whose art disclosed that Plot, which had it taken,
Rome had tryumphed, and Britains wall had shaken.
She Was
In heart a Lydia, and in tongue a Hanna,
In zeale a Ruth, in wedlock a Susanna,
Prudently simple, providently wary,
To the world a Martha, and to Heaven a Mary.
Died 1641

STAPLEHURST.

Here lyeth the Body of Mary the daughter of W^m Maiss & Mary his Wife, who died Sept. 9, 1703, aged 22 years.

Here lyes a piece of Heaven, t’others above,
Which shortly goes up to the World of Love,
The Brightest Sweetest Angels must convey
This spotless Virgin on the starry way;
That glittering quire sings but a lisping song,
Till she appears amidst the shining throng.

SANDWICH.

Robert Needler.

My resting road is found
Vain hope and hap adieu,
Love whom you list
Death hath me rid from you.
The Lord did me from London bring,
To lay my body close herein.
I was my father’s only heir,
And the first my mother bare.
But before one year was spent
The Lord his messenger for me sent.

FOLKESTONE.

Rebecca Rogers.

A house she hath it’s made of such good fashion,
The tenant ne’er shall pay for reparation;
Nor will her landlord ever raise her Rent,
Or turn her out of doors for non-payment;
From chimney money too this Cell is free,
To such a house who would not tenant be.

Henry Jeffry, leaving 8 children.

A faithful friend, a father dear,
A loving husband lieth here;
My time is past, my glass is run,
My children dear, prepare to come.

ELTHAM.

My wife lies here beneath
Alas! from me she’s flown,
She was so good, that Death
Would have her for his own.