Surrey.
BERMONDSEY.
William Palin.
Silent grave, to thee I trust
This precious pearl of worthy dust.
Keep it safe, O sacred tomb!
Until a wife shall ask for room.
WALWORTH.
Here lies the wife of Roger Martin,
She was a good wife to Roger—that’s sartain.
OCKHAM.
The Lord saw good, I was topping off wood,
And down fell from the tree;
I met with a check, and I broke my blessed neck,
And so Death topped off me.
WIMBLEDON.
Sweet Saviour, Jesus, give me wings
Of Peace and perfect Love,
As I may move from Earthly Things,
To rest with thee above.For sins and Sorrows overflow
All earthly things so High,
That I can’t find no rest below,
Till up to thee I fly.
THAMES DITTON.
In memory of Mr. Wm Machell, who departed this life Oct. 10, 1808. Aged 88 years.
Whilst in this world I remained, my life was
A pleasure and health and gain. But now
God thought best to take me to his everlasting rest,
And I thank God for it.
STREATHAM.
On the South Wall of this Church is the following remarkable Inscription:—Elizabeth, wife of Major-Genl Hamilton, who was married 47 years, and never did ONE thing to disoblige her Husband.
BATTERSEA.
Sir Edward Court.
“Alone, unarm’d, a tiger he oppress’d,
And crush’d to death the monster of a beast:
Thrice twenty mounted Moors he overthrew
Singly on foot, some wounded, some he slew,
Disperst the rest; what more could Sampson do?”
Note.—This is only part of the inscription, which relates that, being attacked in the woods by a tiger, he placed himself on the side of a pond, and when the tiger flew at him, he caught him in his arms, fell back with him into the water, got upon him, and kept him down till he had drowned him.
GUILDFORD.
Reader, pass on, ne’er waste your time
On bad biography and bitter rhyme;
For what I am, this cumb’rous clay insures,
And what I was, is no affair of yours.
BEDDINGTON.
Thomas Greenhill.
Under thy feet interr’d is here
A native born in Oxfordshire;
First life and learning Oxford gave,
Surry him his death and grave;
He once a Hill was fresh and Greene,
Now withered is not to be seene;
Earth in earth shovell’d up is shut,
A Hill into a Hole is put;
But darksome earth by Power Divine,
Bright at last as the sun may shine.
RICHMOND.
On Captain John Dunch, who died in 1697, aged 67.
Though Boreas’ blasts and Neptune’s waves
Have tossed me to and fro,
In spight of both, by God’s decree,
I anchor here below,
Where I do now at anchor ride,
With many of our fleet,
Yet once again I must set sail,
Our admiral, Christ, to meet.
CAMBERWELL.
Richard Wade, died Oct. 21, 1810, aged 53.
Giles Wade, died Dec. 8, 1810, aged 53.
Near together they came,
Near together they went,
Near together they are.
Sussex.
BARCOMB.
All you that come my grave to see
Prepare yourself to Follow me,
Take care Young men repent in time
For I was taken in my Prime.As I was going through a Barn
I little thought of any harm,
A piece of Timber on me fell,
And penetrated through my Skull.My Eyes were Blinded I could not see,
My Parents they did weep for Me,
My Time was come I was Forced to go,
And bid the World and Them Adieu.Just six and thirty hours I lay
In great Pain and Agony,
Till the Archangel bid me come,
And called my Soul to its last Home.
CHICHESTER.
A certain noble lord of no very moral life, dying, had inscribed upon his tomb, the phrase, “Ultima Domus,”—Collins, the poet, is said to have pencill’d those lines under the words:—
Did he who wrote upon this wall,
Believe or disbelieve St. Paul?
Who says where-er it is or stands,
There is another house not made with hands,
Or do we gather from these words,
That house is not a house of lords?
Here lies an old soldier whom all must applaud,
Who fought many battles at home and abroad;
But the hottest engagement he ever was in,
Was the conquest of self in the battle of sin.
BEXHILL.
On a Young Lady.
I lay me down to rest me,
And pray to God to bless me,
And if I sleep and never wake,
I pray to God my soul to take
This night for Evermore—Amen.
WEST GRINSTEAD.
Vast Strong was I, but yet did dye,
And in my Grave asleep I Lye,
My Grave is Stoned all round about,
But I hope the Lord will find me out.
MAYFIELD.
Oh reader! if that thou can’st read
Look down upon this stone;
Do all we can, Death is a man,
What never spareth none.
STORRINGTON.
Here lies the body of Edward Hide,
We laid him here because he died,
We had rather
It been his father,
If it had been his sister
We should not have missed her,
But since ’tis honest Ned,
No more shall be said.
Here lies my poor wife, without bed or blanket,
But dead as a door nail, God be thanked.
LAVANT.
Mr. Samford, Blacksmith.
My Sledge and hammer lie reclined,
My Bellows, too, have lost their wind;
My fire’s extinct, my forge decayed,
And in the dust my vice is laid;
My coal is spent, my iron gone,
My nails are drove, my work is done.
EAST GRINSTEAD.
I was as grass that did grow up,
And wither’d before it grew,
As Snails do waste within their Shells,
So the number of my days were few.
RODMELL.
Elizabeth Ellis (1757).
If love and virtue doth conduce to grace the fair,
These was once possessed by her who lieth here;
But alas! by fate the object of her love was drowned.
By death surprized in trying to save a hound.
Which such effect had on her tender mind
It brought her into a deep decline.
With him her transitory bliss is fled,
And she a cold companion of the dead.
Since this catastrophe cannot fail to show
How uncertain all earthly joys are here below.
BRIGHTON.
His fate was hard, but God’s decree
Was, drown’d he should lie—in the sea.
Warwickshire.
BIRMINGHAM.
By a Lady on her Husband.
Oh! cruel death, how could you be so unkind,
To take him before, and leave me behind.
You should have taken both of us—if either,
Which would have been more pleasant to the survivor.
My time is out, my glass is run,
I never more shan’t see the sun;
To live for ever, no man don’t,
The Lord does not think fitting on’t.
COVENTRY.
Upon a rich Merchant’s Wife.
She was What was,
But words are Wanting to say what a One.
What a Wife should be,
She was that.
STRATFORD ON AVON.
On Shakspeare’s Monument are engraved the following distich and lines:—
“Judicio Pylium, genio Socratem, arte Maronem,
Terra tegit, populus mœret, Olympus habet.”“Stay, passenger, why dost thou go so fast?
Read, if thou canst, what envious death hath placed
Within this monument; Shakspeare, with whom
Quick nature died; whose name doth deck the tomb
Far more than cost, since all that he hath writ
Leaves living art but page unto his wit.”
Westmoreland.
RAVENSTONEDALE.
Here lies a Wife,
Mary Metcalf,
Where I was born, or when,
It matters not,—
To whom related, or
By whom begot.
John Robinson Hunter,
Aged 30.
He lived; and died
Unplaced, unpensioned—
No man’s heir
Or slave.“Can the inhabitants of Ravenstonedale look at either of these monuments without blushing? Can the freeholders of that parish look at the latter, and not consider it prophetically as the voice of one speaking from the dead?”