On the monument of John of Doncaster—
What I gave, I have;
What I spent, I had;
What I saved, I lost.
In a New England grave-yard—
Here lies John Auricular,
Who in the ways of the Lord walked perpendicular.
Sternhold Oakes—
Here lies the body of Sternhold Oakes,
Who lived and died like other folks.
On a tombstone in New Jersey—
Reader, pass on! don't waste your time
On bad biography and bitter rhyme;
For what I am, this crumbling clay insures,
And what I was, is no affair of yours!
In East Hartford, Connecticut—
Hark! she bids all her friends adieu;
An angel calls her to the spheres;
Our eyes the radiant saint pursue
Through liquid telescopes of tears.