Written on Montmaur,
A man of excellent memory, but deficient in judgment.
In this black surtout reposes sweetly, Montmaur of
happy memory, awaiting his judgement.
On an Invalid.
Written by Himself.
Here lies a head that often ached;
Here lie two hands that always shak’d;
Here lies a brain of odd conceit;
Here lies a heart that often beat;
Here lie two eyes that dimly wept,
And in the night but seldom slept;
Here lies a tongue that whining talk’d;—
Here lie two feet that feebly walked;
Here lie the midriff and the breast,
With loads of indigestion prest;
Here lives the liver full of bile,
That ne’er secreted proper chyle;
Here lie the bowels, human tripes,
Tortured with wind and twisting gripes;
Here lies the livid dab, the spleen,
The source of life’s sad tragic scene,
That left side weight that clogs the blood,
And stagnates Nature’s circling flood;
Here lies the back, oft racked with pains,
Corroding kidneys, loins, and reins;
Here lies the skin by scurvy fed,
With pimples and irruptions red;
Here lies the man from top to toe,
That fabric fram’d for pain and woe.
On Sir John Vanbrugh.
Lie heavy on him, earth! for he
Laid many heavy loads on thee.
The following Epitaph was written by Shakespeare on Mr. Combe, an old gentleman noted for his wealth and usury:—
“Ten in the hundred lies here ingraved:
’Tis a hundred to ten his soul is not saved:
If any man ask, Who lies in this tomb?
Oh! oh! quoth the devil, ’tis my John-a-Combe.”
On Dr. Fuller.
Here lies Fuller’s earth.