Here Henry Cary, Lord Hunsdon rests,
What a noise he makes with his Name?
Sisly. That’s he for whom our Bells ring so often, is it not Mary? Mol. Ay, ay, the very same.Lord Chamberlain was he unto
Queen Elizabeth of great Fame.
And here’s one William Colchester
Lies of a Certainty;
An Abbot was he of Westminster,
And he that saith no, doth lie.
This is the Bishop of Durham,
By Death here lay’d in Fetters;
Henry the Seventh lov’d him well,
And so he wrote his Letters.
Sir Thomas Bacchus, what of him?
Poor Gentleman not a Word;
Only they Buried him here; but now
Behold that Man with a Sword.
Humphry de Bohun, who though he were
Not born with me i’the same Town;
Yet I can tell he was Earl of Essex,
Of Hertford, and Northampton.
He was High Constable of England,
As History well expresses;
But now pretty Maids be of good Chear,
We’re going up to the Presses.
And now the Presses open stand,
And ye see them all arow;
But never no more are said of these
Then what is said below.
Now down the Stairs come we again,
The Man goes first with a Staff;
Some two or three tumble down the Stairs,
And then the People laugh.
This is the great Sir Francis Vere,
That so the Spaniards curry’d;
Four Colonels support his Tomb,
And here his Body’s Buried.
Dick. I warrant ye he had two, if he could have but kep’d ’em.That Statue against the Wall with one Eye,
Is Major General Norris;
He beat the Spaniards cruelly,
As is affirm’d in Stories.
His six Sons there hard by him stand,
Each one was a Commander;
To shew he could a Lady serve,
As well as the Hollander.
And there doth Sir John Hollis rest,
Who was the Major General;
To Sir John Norris, that brave blade,
And so they go to Dinner all.
For now the Shew is at an end,
All things are done and said;
The Citizen pays for his Wife,
The Prentice for the Maid.
A Song Sung by Mrs. Campion, in the Comedy call’d, she wou’d and she wou’d not. By Mr. John Weldon.
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