Here lies my corpse, who was the man
That loved a sop in the dripping pan;
But now, believe me I am dead,
See here the pan stands at my head.
Still for sops to the last I cried,
But could not eat, and so I died.
My neighbours, they perhaps will laugh,
When they do read my epitaph.
CAIUS COLLEGE CHAPEL, A.D. 1613:—
On William Webbe.
A richer Webb than any art can weave,
The Soule that Faith to Christ makes firmly cleave.
This Webbe can Death, nor Devils, sunder nor untwist,
For Christ and Grace both groundwork are and List.
At CASTLE CAMPS the following quaint epitaph on a former rector:—
Mors mortis morti mortem nisi morte dedisset,
Æternæ Vitæ Janua clausa foret.
The translation is obviously,—
“Unless the Death of Death (Christ) had given death to death by his own death, the gate of eternal life had been closed.”
A poetic specimen of declension!