Thomas Knolles lies under this stone,
And his wife Isabell: flesh and bone
They were together nineteen year,
And ten children they had in fear.
His fader & he to this church
Many good deed they did worch.
Example by him may ye see,
That this world is but vanity;
For whether he be small or great,
All shall turn to worms’ meat;
This said Thomas was lay’d on beere,
The eighth day the month Fevree,
The date of Jesu Christ truly,
Anno M.C.C.C. five & forty.
We may not pray; heartily pray he,
For our souls, Pater Noster and Ave.
The swarer of our pains lissed to be,
Grant us thy holy trinity. Amen.
On one stone, exhibiting a copy of that very rare inscription beginning with “Afflictions sore,” the second line affords the following choice specimen of orthography:—“Physicians are in vain.”
Think nothing strange,
Chance happens unto all;
My lot’s to-day,
To-morrow yours may fall.
Great afflictions I have had,
Which wore my strength away;
Then I was willing to submit
Unto this bed of clay.
On Burbridge, the Tragedian.
Exit Burbridge.
On the late Mr. Suett.
Here lies to mix with kindred earth,
A child of wit, of Glee and Mirth;
Hush’d are those powers which gave delight;
And made us laugh in reason’s spite:
Thy “gibes and jests shall now no more
Set all the rabble in a roar.”
Sons of Mirth, and Humour come,
And drop a tear on Suett’s Tomb;
Nor ye alone, but all who view it,
Weep and Exclaim, Alas Poor Suett.
On the Tomb of a Murdered Man.
O holy Jove! my murderers, may they die
A death like mine—my buriers live in joy!
On a Magistrate who had formerly been a Barber.