My dearest dust, could not thy hasty day
Afford thy drowsy patience leave to stay
One hour longer, so that we might either
Have set up, or gone to bed together!
But since thy finished labour hath possessed
Thy weary limbs with early rest,
Enjoy it sweetly, and thy widow bride
Shall soon repose her by thy slumbering side!
Whose business now is to prepare
My nightly dress and call to prayer.
Mine eyes wax heavy, and the days grow old,
The dew falls thick—my blood grows cold:—
Draw, draw the closed curtains, and make room,
My dear, my dearest dust, I come, I come.
EDWORTH.
Here lies father, and mother, and sister, and I,
We all died within the space of one year,
They be all buried at Whimble except I,
And I be buried here.
LUTON.
In the “Wenlock Chapel” in the above church, on an embattled altar-tomb is a recumbent figure of a priest—representing William Wenlock, who died 1392. Round the verge of the tomb is inscribed, in ancient characters,—
. . . . Ilemus hic tumulatus de Wenlock natus; in ordine presbiteratus; alter hujus ille: dominus meus fuit ville: hic jacet indignus: anime Deus esto benignus!
On the side of the tomb,—
In Wenlock brad I: in this town lordshcippes had I! here am I now lady: Christes moder help me lady. Under these stones: for a tym shal I rest my bones; deyn mot I ned ones. Myghtful God gra’t me thy woues. Ame’.
Formerly in a window of this chapel was a portrait of Wenlock, with the following inscription:—
Jesu Christ, most of might,
Have mercy on John de Wenlock, knight,
And of his wife Elizabeth,
Which out of this world is passed by death,
Which founded this chapel here,
Help thou them with your hearty prayer,
That they may come unto that place,
Where ever is joy and solace.