Margery Scott.
Stop, passenger, until my life you read,
The living may get knowledge from the dead:
Five times five years I lived a virgin life,
Five times five years I was a virtuous wife,
Five times five years a widow, grave and chaste,
Tired of the elements, I am now at rest;
Betwixt my cradle and my grave were seen
Eight mighty kings of Scotland and a Queen;
Thrice did I see old Pulacy pulled down,
And thrice the cloak did sink beneath the gown.
Stirlingshire.
STIRLING.
John Adamson’s here kept within,
Death’s prisoner for Adam’s sin,
But rests in hope that he shall be
Let, by the second Adam, free.
Wigtonshire.
WIGTON.
Here lies John Taggart, of honest fame,
Of stature low, and a leg lame;
Content he was with portion small,
Kept a shop in Wigtown, and that’s all.
Miscellaneous.
A servant maid was sent by her mistress to Ben Jonson for an epitaph on her departed husband. She could only afford to pay half-a-guinea, which Ben refused, saying he never wrote one for less than double that sum; but recollecting he was going to dine that day at a tavern, he ran down stairs and called her back. “What was your master’s name?”—“Jonathan Fiddle, sir.” “When did he die?”—“June the 22nd, sir.” Ben took a small piece of paper, and wrote with his pencil, while standing on the stairs, the following:—