Stay, reader, drop upon this stone
One pitying tear and then be gone:
A handsome pile of flesh and blood
Is here sunk down in its first mud.
I was somebody—who? is no business of yours.
My wife from me departed
And robbed me like a knave;
Which caused me broken hearted
To sink into this grave.
My children took an active part,
To doom me did contrive;
Which stuck a dagger in my heart
That I could not survive.
Pious.
Open thine eyes Lord
I come! I come!
Sacred to the memory of three twins.
My glass is run; yours is running.
Remember death and judgment coming.
This stone was got to keep this lot.
Her father bought. Dig not too near.
Grim death took little Jerry,
The son of Joseph and Sereno Howells,
Seven days he wrestled with the dysentery
And then he perished in his little bowels.
Newfane