Vast Strong was I, but yet did dye,
And in my Grave asleep I Lye,
My Grave is Stoned all round about,
But I hope the Lord will find me out.
MAYFIELD.
Oh reader! if that thou can’st read
Look down upon this stone;
Do all we can, Death is a man,
What never spareth none.
STORRINGTON.
Here lies the body of Edward Hide,
We laid him here because he died,
We had rather
It been his father,
If it had been his sister
We should not have missed her,
But since ’tis honest Ned,
No more shall be said.
Here lies my poor wife, without bed or blanket,
But dead as a door nail, God be thanked.
LAVANT.
Mr. Samford, Blacksmith.
My Sledge and hammer lie reclined,
My Bellows, too, have lost their wind;
My fire’s extinct, my forge decayed,
And in the dust my vice is laid;
My coal is spent, my iron gone,
My nails are drove, my work is done.