Though we did live so many years,
Prepare, O youth, for Death,
For if he should at noon appear,
You must give up your breath.
HADDISCOE.
William Salter.
Here lies Will Salter, honest man,
Deny it, Envy, if you can;
True to his business and his trust,
Always punctual, always just;
His horses, could they speak, would tell
They loved their good old master well.
His up-hill work is chiefly done,
His stage is ended, race is run;
One journey is remaining still,
To climb up Sion’s holy hill.
And now his faults are all forgiven,
Elijah-like, drives up to heaven,
Takes the reward of all his pains,
And leaves to other hands the reins.
HUNSTANTON.
I am not dead, but sleepeth here,
And when the trumpet sound I will appear.
Four balls through me pierced their way,
Hard it was, I had no time to pray.
The stone that here you do see
My comrades erected for the sake of me.
BURCH HEGGIN.
Acrostic Epitaph on Robert Porter, a noted miser.
R iches and wealth I now despise,
O nce the delight of heart and eyes;
B ut since I’ve known the vile deceit,
E nvy has met its own defeat.
R egardless of such empty toys,
T ell all to seek for heavenly joys.
P ull’d down by age and anxious cares,
O ppressed am I by dismal fears,
R elating to my future state,
T o know what then will be my fate.
E ternal God! to Thee I pray
R emove these fearful doubts away.