One was our thought, One life we fought,
One rest we both intended,
Our bodies have to sleepe one grave,
Our soules to God ascended.
Conjugal Epitaph.
Here rest my spouse, no pair through life,
So equal liv’d as we did;
Alike we shared perpetual strife,
Nor knew I rest till she did.
An Epitaph upon a Scolding Woman.
Another version.
(From an old Book of Job.)
We lived one and twenty yeare,
Like man and wife together;
I could no longer have her heere,
She’s gone, I know not whither.
If I could guesse, I doe professe,
(I speak it not to flatter)
Of all the women in the worlde,
I never would come at her.
Her body is bestowed well,
A handsome grave doth hide her,
And sure her soule is not in hell,
The fiend could ne’er abide her.
I think she mounted up on hie,
For in the last great thunder,
Mee thought I heard her voice on hie,
Rending the clouds in sunder.
Within this place a vertvous virgin lies,
Much like those virgins that were counted wise,
Her lamp of life by Death being now pvt ovt,
Her lamp of grace doth still shine rovnd abovt,
And thovgh her body here doth sleep in clay,
Yet is her sovl still watchfvl for that day,
When Christ the Bridegroom of her sovl shall come,
To take her with him to the wedding roome.
Amy Mitchell,
1724 aged 19.
Here lies a virgin cropt in youth,
A Xtian both in name and truth,
Forbear to mourn, she is not dead,
But gone to marry Christ her head.
On a Woman who had three Husbands.
Here lies the body of Mary Sextone,
Who pleased three men, and never vexed one,
That she can’t say beneath the next stone.