On Thomas Jones.
Here for the nonce,CameThomas Jones,In St. Giles’s Church to lye;Non Welch before,None Welchman more,Till Show Clerk dy.He tole his bell,He ring his knell.He dyed well,He’s sav’d from hell,And so farewell,Tom Jones.
Here for the nonce,CameThomas Jones,In St. Giles’s Church to lye;Non Welch before,None Welchman more,Till Show Clerk dy.
He tole his bell,He ring his knell.He dyed well,He’s sav’d from hell,And so farewell,
Tom Jones.
On Dr. Walker, who wrote a book called “Particles:”—
Here lie Walker’s Particles.
Here lie Walker’s Particles.
The tomb of Keats the Poet.This grave containsallthat was mortalof ayoung English Poet,whoon his death bed,in the bitterness of his heartat the malicious power of his enemies,desired thesewords to be engraved on his tombstone:“Here lies onewhose name was writ in water.”February 24, 1821.
The tomb of Keats the Poet.
This grave containsallthat was mortalof ayoung English Poet,whoon his death bed,in the bitterness of his heartat the malicious power of his enemies,desired thesewords to be engraved on his tombstone:“Here lies onewhose name was writ in water.”February 24, 1821.
On Mr. Quin.
Says Epicure Quin, Should the devil in hell,In fishing for men take delight,His hook bait with ven’son, I love it so well,Indeed I am sure I should bite.
Says Epicure Quin, Should the devil in hell,In fishing for men take delight,His hook bait with ven’son, I love it so well,Indeed I am sure I should bite.
Here lies Sir John Plumpudding of the Grange,Who hanged himself one morning for a change.
Here lies Sir John Plumpudding of the Grange,Who hanged himself one morning for a change.
On John Bell.
I Jocky Bell o’ Braikenbrow, lyes under this stane,Five of my awn sons laid it on my wame;I liv’d aw my dayes, but sturt or strife,Was man o’ my meat, and master o’ my wife.If you done better in your time, than I did in mine,Take this stane aff my wame, and lay it on o’ thine.
I Jocky Bell o’ Braikenbrow, lyes under this stane,Five of my awn sons laid it on my wame;I liv’d aw my dayes, but sturt or strife,Was man o’ my meat, and master o’ my wife.If you done better in your time, than I did in mine,Take this stane aff my wame, and lay it on o’ thine.
On Mr. Havard, Comedian.
“An honest man’s the noblest work of God.”Havard from sorrow rest beneath this stone;An honest man—beloved as soon as known;However defective in the mimic art,In real life he justly played his part!The noblest character he acted well,And heaven applauded when the curtain fell.
“An honest man’s the noblest work of God.”
Havard from sorrow rest beneath this stone;An honest man—beloved as soon as known;However defective in the mimic art,In real life he justly played his part!The noblest character he acted well,And heaven applauded when the curtain fell.
On Robin Masters, Undertaker.
Here lieth Robin Masters—Faith ’twas hardTo take away our honest Robin’s breath;Yet surely Robin was full well prepared,Robin was always looking out for death.
Here lieth Robin Masters—Faith ’twas hardTo take away our honest Robin’s breath;Yet surely Robin was full well prepared,Robin was always looking out for death.
On an Undertaker.
Subdued by death, here death’s great herald lies,And adds a trophy to his victories;Yet sure he was prepared, who, while he’d breath,Made it his business to look for death.
Subdued by death, here death’s great herald lies,And adds a trophy to his victories;Yet sure he was prepared, who, while he’d breath,Made it his business to look for death.
On a Cobler.
Death at a cobler’s door oft made a stand,And always found him on the mending hand;At last came Death, in very dirty weather,And ripp’d the sole from off the upper leather.Death put a trick upon him, and what was’t?The cobler called for’s awl, Death brought his last.
Death at a cobler’s door oft made a stand,And always found him on the mending hand;At last came Death, in very dirty weather,And ripp’d the sole from off the upper leather.Death put a trick upon him, and what was’t?The cobler called for’s awl, Death brought his last.
On a Dustman.
Beneath yon humble clod, at restLies Andrew, who, if not the best,Was not the very worst man;A little rakish, apt to roam;But not so now, he’s quite at home,For Andrew was aDustman.
Beneath yon humble clod, at restLies Andrew, who, if not the best,Was not the very worst man;A little rakish, apt to roam;But not so now, he’s quite at home,For Andrew was aDustman.
Here lies the body of John Cole,His master loved him like his soul;He could rake hay—none could rake faster,Except that raking dog, his master.
Here lies the body of John Cole,His master loved him like his soul;He could rake hay—none could rake faster,Except that raking dog, his master.
Mr. Langford, Auctioneer.
So, so, Master Langford, the hammer of DeathHath knock’d out your brains, and deprived you of breath;’Tis but tit for tat, he who puts up the town,By Devil or Death must at last be knock’d down.
So, so, Master Langford, the hammer of DeathHath knock’d out your brains, and deprived you of breath;’Tis but tit for tat, he who puts up the town,By Devil or Death must at last be knock’d down.
On a man named Stone.
Jerusalem’s curse was not fulfilled in me,For here a stone upon a Stone you see.
Jerusalem’s curse was not fulfilled in me,For here a stone upon a Stone you see.
On Thomas Day.
Here lies Thomas Day,Lately removed from over the way.
Here lies Thomas Day,Lately removed from over the way.
Epitaph by Burns.(On a man choked by a piece of bread!)
Here I lie, killed by a crumb,That wouldn’t go down, nor wouldn’t up come.
Here I lie, killed by a crumb,That wouldn’t go down, nor wouldn’t up come.
On John Treffry, Esq.
Here in this Chancel do I lye,Known by the name of John Treffry.Being born & made for to die;So must thou, friend, as well as I.Therefore good works be sure to try,But chiefly love & Charity;And still on them with faith rely,To be happy eternally.
Here in this Chancel do I lye,Known by the name of John Treffry.Being born & made for to die;So must thou, friend, as well as I.Therefore good works be sure to try,But chiefly love & Charity;And still on them with faith rely,To be happy eternally.
This was put up during his life, who was a whimsical man. He had his grave dug, & lay down and swore in it, to show the sexton a novelty,i.e., a man swearing in his grave.
On -- Hatt.
By Death’s impartial scythe was mownPoor Hatt—he lies beneath this stone;On him misfortune oft did frown,Yet Hatt ne’er wanted for a crown;When many years of constant wearHad made his beaver somewhat bare,Death saw, and pitying his mishap,Has given him here a good long nap.
By Death’s impartial scythe was mownPoor Hatt—he lies beneath this stone;On him misfortune oft did frown,Yet Hatt ne’er wanted for a crown;When many years of constant wearHad made his beaver somewhat bare,Death saw, and pitying his mishap,Has given him here a good long nap.
Here I, Thomas Wharton, do lie,With Lucifer under my head,And Nelly my wife hard bye,And Nancy as cold as lead.O, how can I speak without dreadWho could my sad fortune abide?With one devil under my head,And another laid close on each side.
Here I, Thomas Wharton, do lie,With Lucifer under my head,And Nelly my wife hard bye,And Nancy as cold as lead.
O, how can I speak without dreadWho could my sad fortune abide?With one devil under my head,And another laid close on each side.
On William Jones, a Bone Collector
Here lie the bones of William Jones,Who when alive collected bones,But Death, that grisly bony spectre,That most amazing bone collector,Has boned poor Jones so snug and tidy,That here he lies in bonâ fide.
Here lie the bones of William Jones,Who when alive collected bones,But Death, that grisly bony spectre,That most amazing bone collector,Has boned poor Jones so snug and tidy,That here he lies in bonâ fide.
The late Rev. John Sampson, of Kendal.SacrumIn memoriam viri doctissimi et clerici, Joannis Sampson,olim hujusce sacelli ministri, itemque ludi literarii apudCongalum triginta septem ferè annos magistri seduli;hoc marmor ponendum quidam discipulus præceptoremmerens curavit.Ob: An: ætatis suæ LXXVII; A.D. MDCCCXLIII.Foris juxta januam e dextrâ introeunti sepultum estcorpus.Problemata plurima geometrica proposuit ac solvit; adhæc accedunt versus haud pauci, latinè et manu suâscripti; quorum exemplum infrà insculptum est; adeout Christiano tum mentem, tum viri fidem cognoscereliceat.“αὐτòς ἔφη.”“Quandocunque sophos clarus sua dogmata profert,“Nil valet αὐτòς ἔφη, ni documenta daret;”“At mihi cùm Christus loquitur, verum, via, vita,“Tum vero fateor sufficit αὐτòς ἔφη.”
The late Rev. John Sampson, of Kendal.Sacrum
In memoriam viri doctissimi et clerici, Joannis Sampson,olim hujusce sacelli ministri, itemque ludi literarii apudCongalum triginta septem ferè annos magistri seduli;hoc marmor ponendum quidam discipulus præceptoremmerens curavit.Ob: An: ætatis suæ LXXVII; A.D. MDCCCXLIII.Foris juxta januam e dextrâ introeunti sepultum estcorpus.Problemata plurima geometrica proposuit ac solvit; adhæc accedunt versus haud pauci, latinè et manu suâscripti; quorum exemplum infrà insculptum est; adeout Christiano tum mentem, tum viri fidem cognoscereliceat.
“αὐτòς ἔφη.”
“Quandocunque sophos clarus sua dogmata profert,“Nil valet αὐτòς ἔφη, ni documenta daret;”“At mihi cùm Christus loquitur, verum, via, vita,“Tum vero fateor sufficit αὐτòς ἔφη.”
Epitaph on the Mareschal Comte de Ranzan, a Swede, who accompanied Oxenstiern to Paris, and was taken into the French service by Louis XIII. He died of hydrophobia in 1650. He had been in innumerable battles, had lost an eye and two limbs, and his body was found to be entirely covered with scars.
Stop, passenger! this stone belowLies half the body of Ranzan:The other moiety’s scattered farAnd wide o’er many a field of war;For to no land the hero came,On which he shed not blood and fame.Mangled or maim’d each meaner part,One thing remain’d entire—his heart.
Stop, passenger! this stone belowLies half the body of Ranzan:The other moiety’s scattered farAnd wide o’er many a field of war;For to no land the hero came,On which he shed not blood and fame.Mangled or maim’d each meaner part,One thing remain’d entire—his heart.
At Arlington, near Paris.
Here lieTwo grandmothers, with their two granddaughtersTwo husbands with their two wives,Two fathers with their two daughters,Two mothers with their two sons,Two maidens with their two mothers,Two sisters with their two brothers.Yet but six corps in all lie buried here,All born legitimate, & from incest clear.
Here lieTwo grandmothers, with their two granddaughtersTwo husbands with their two wives,Two fathers with their two daughters,Two mothers with their two sons,Two maidens with their two mothers,Two sisters with their two brothers.Yet but six corps in all lie buried here,All born legitimate, & from incest clear.
The above may be thus explained:—
Two widows, that were sisters-in-law, had each a son, who married each other’s mother, and by them had each a daughter. Suppose one widow’s name Mary, and her son’s name John, and the other widow’s name Sarah, and her son’s James; this answers the fourth line. Then suppose John married Sarah, and had a daughter by her, and James married Mary, and had a daughter also, these marriages answer the first, second, third, fifth, and sixth lines of the epitaph.
Sudden and unexpected was the endOf our esteemed and beloved friend.He gave to all his friends a sudden shockBy one day falling into Sunderland Dock.
Sudden and unexpected was the endOf our esteemed and beloved friend.He gave to all his friends a sudden shockBy one day falling into Sunderland Dock.
At Sakiwedel.
Traveller, hurry not, as if you were goingpost-haste; in the most rapid journey you must stop at theposthouse. Here repose the bones of MATTHIAS SCHULZEN, the most humble and most faithfulPostmaster, for upwards of Twenty-five years, of His Majesty, Frederick, King of Prussia. He arrived 1655; and afterwards travelled with distinction in life’s pilgrimage, by walking courses in the Schools and Universities. He carefully performed his duties as a Christian, and when thepostof misfortune came, he behaved according to theletterof divine consolation. His body, however, ultimately being enfeebled, he was prepared to attend the signal given by thepostof death; when his soul set off on her pleasing journey for Paradise, the 2nd of June, 1711; and his body afterwards was committed to this silent tomb. Reader, in thy pilgrimage through life, be mindful of the propheticpostof Death!
Traveller, hurry not, as if you were goingpost-haste; in the most rapid journey you must stop at theposthouse. Here repose the bones of MATTHIAS SCHULZEN, the most humble and most faithfulPostmaster, for upwards of Twenty-five years, of His Majesty, Frederick, King of Prussia. He arrived 1655; and afterwards travelled with distinction in life’s pilgrimage, by walking courses in the Schools and Universities. He carefully performed his duties as a Christian, and when thepostof misfortune came, he behaved according to theletterof divine consolation. His body, however, ultimately being enfeebled, he was prepared to attend the signal given by thepostof death; when his soul set off on her pleasing journey for Paradise, the 2nd of June, 1711; and his body afterwards was committed to this silent tomb. Reader, in thy pilgrimage through life, be mindful of the propheticpostof Death!
Dear Husband, now my life is past,And I am stuck in Earth so fast,I pray no sorrow for me take,But love my Children, for my sake;—
Dear Husband, now my life is past,And I am stuck in Earth so fast,I pray no sorrow for me take,But love my Children, for my sake;—
Hamburgh.
“O Mors Cur Deus Negat Vitambe te bis nos bis nam.”
“O Mors Cur Deus Negat Vitambe te bis nos bis nam.”
Solution.
O! Superbe! Mors Super--te!Cur Superbis?Deus Supernos! negat SuperbisVitam Supernam.
O! Superbe! Mors Super--te!Cur Superbis?Deus Supernos! negat SuperbisVitam Supernam.
On the Duke of Burgundy’s tomb in St. George’s Church, near Condé:—
“Carolus hoc busto Burgundæ gloria gentis,Conditur, Europæ qui fuit ante timor.”
“Carolus hoc busto Burgundæ gloria gentis,Conditur, Europæ qui fuit ante timor.”
Near the left wall in the Protestant-ground at Rome is a monument to Lord Barrington, and a tombstone to the infant child of Mr. William Lambton:—
Go thou, white in thy soul, and fill a throneOf innocence and purity in heaven!
Go thou, white in thy soul, and fill a throneOf innocence and purity in heaven!
Silo Princeps Fecit.
T
I
C
E
F
S
P
E
C
N
C
E
P
S
F
E
C
I
T
I
C
E
F
S
P
E
C
N
I
N
C
E
P
S
F
E
C
I
C
E
F
S
P
E
C
N
I
R
I
N
C
E
P
S
F
E
C
E
F
S
P
E
C
N
I
R
P
R
I
N
C
E
P
S
F
E
F
S
P
E
C
N
I
R
P
O
P
R
I
N
C
E
P
S
F
S
P
E
C
N
I
R
P
O
L
O
P
R
I
N
C
E
P
S
P
E
C
N
I
R
P
O
L
I
L
O
P
R
I
N
C
E
P
E
C
N
I
R
P
O
L
I
S
I
L
O
P
R
I
N
C
E
P
E
C
N
I
R
P
O
L
I
L
O
P
R
I
N
C
E
P
S
P
E
C
N
I
R
P
O
L
O
P
R
I
N
C
E
P
S
F
S
P
E
C
N
I
R
P
O
P
R
I
N
C
E
P
S
F
E
F
S
P
E
C
N
I
R
P
R
I
N
C
E
P
S
F
E
C
E
F
S
P
E
C
N
I
R
I
N
C
E
P
S
F
E
C
I
C
E
F
S
P
E
C
N
I
N
C
E
P
S
F
E
C
I
T
I
C
E
F
S
P
E
C
N
C
E
P
S
F
E
C
I
T
At the entrance of the Church of St. Salvador in the city of Oviedo, in Spain, is a most remarkable tomb, erected by a prince named Silo, with this very curious Latin inscription which may be read 270 ways by beginning with the capital letter S in the centre.
On a tombstone in the churchyard at Hochheim, a village where one of the best species of Rhenish is produced, and from the name of which our generic Hock is derived:—
This grave holds Caspar Schink, who came to dine,And taste the noblest vintage of the Rhine;Three nights he sat, and thirty bottles drank,Then lifeless by the board of Bacchus sank.One only comfort have we in the case,—The trump will raise him in the proper place.
This grave holds Caspar Schink, who came to dine,And taste the noblest vintage of the Rhine;Three nights he sat, and thirty bottles drank,Then lifeless by the board of Bacchus sank.One only comfort have we in the case,—The trump will raise him in the proper place.
Here lies Peg, that drunken sot,Who dearly loved her jug and pot;There she lies, as sure as can be,She killed herself by drinking brandy.
Here lies Peg, that drunken sot,Who dearly loved her jug and pot;There she lies, as sure as can be,She killed herself by drinking brandy.
Calcutta.Bene:AT. HT, Hi S: ST--Oneli: E: Skat. .He, Ri, N. eg. Rayc--(Hang’d). F . R.O! mab. V, Syli, Fetol--IF . . Ele:(SSCL)Ayb... Year.. Than.Dcl--Ays: Hego.Therpel:. Fand.No, WS. He: sturN’D to Ear,TH, h, ErselFy! EWE: EP....In: G. F. R: IE: ND. S. L.Et, mea DV: ISea: ...... Batey.O! V: rg.....RiE .... Fan.. D. D.RYY. O! V.R.EYes. F.O.R W: H. ATa.Vai .... LS. a. flo.O! do. F. Tea. R.SW: Hok: No: WS:Buti. nar. U.No! Fy: Ear, SI: N.SO: Metal:L. Pit. c.HERO: . . r. Bro, a:D. P.ANS, HeiN. H.Ers. Hop. ma:Y. B.Ea: Gai .... N. .
Calcutta.
Bene:AT. HT, Hi S: ST--Oneli: E: Skat. .He, Ri, N. eg. Rayc--(Hang’d). F . R.O! mab. V, Syli, Fetol--IF . . Ele:(SSCL)Ayb... Year.. Than.Dcl--Ays: Hego.Therpel:. Fand.No, WS. He: sturN’D to Ear,TH, h, ErselFy! EWE: EP....In: G. F. R: IE: ND. S. L.Et, mea DV: ISea: ...... Batey.O! V: rg.....RiE .... Fan.. D. D.RYY. O! V.R.EYes. F.O.R W: H. ATa.Vai .... LS. a. flo.O! do. F. Tea. R.SW: Hok: No: WS:Buti. nar. U.No! Fy: Ear, SI: N.SO: Metal:L. Pit. c.HERO: . . r. Bro, a:D. P.ANS, HeiN. H.Ers. Hop. ma:Y. B.Ea: Gai .... N. .
The following was written by Capt. Morris on Edward Heardson, thirty years Cook to the Beef Steak Society.
His laststeakdone; his fire rak’d out and dead,Dishedfor the worms himself, lieshonest Ned:We, then, whose breasts bore all hisfleshly toils,Took all hisbastings, and shared all hisbroils;Now, in our turn, amouthful carveandtrim,Anddressat Phœbus’fire, onescrapfor him:—His heart which well might grace the noblest grave,Was grateful, patient, modest, just, and brave;And ne’er did earth’s wide mawa morselgainOfkindlier juicesor more tendergrain;His tongue, where duteous friendship humbly dwelt,Charmed all who heard the faithful zeal he felt;Still to whatever end hischopshe mov’d,’Twas allwell seasoned,relished, and approv’d:This room his heaven!—When threatening Fate drew nighThe closing shade that dimm’d his ling’ring eye,His last fond hopes, betray’d by many a tear,Were—That his life’s lastsparkmight glimmer here;And the last words that choak’d his parting sigh—“Oh! at your feet, dear masters, let me die!”
His laststeakdone; his fire rak’d out and dead,Dishedfor the worms himself, lieshonest Ned:We, then, whose breasts bore all hisfleshly toils,Took all hisbastings, and shared all hisbroils;Now, in our turn, amouthful carveandtrim,Anddressat Phœbus’fire, onescrapfor him:—His heart which well might grace the noblest grave,Was grateful, patient, modest, just, and brave;And ne’er did earth’s wide mawa morselgainOfkindlier juicesor more tendergrain;His tongue, where duteous friendship humbly dwelt,Charmed all who heard the faithful zeal he felt;Still to whatever end hischopshe mov’d,’Twas allwell seasoned,relished, and approv’d:This room his heaven!—When threatening Fate drew nighThe closing shade that dimm’d his ling’ring eye,His last fond hopes, betray’d by many a tear,Were—That his life’s lastsparkmight glimmer here;And the last words that choak’d his parting sigh—“Oh! at your feet, dear masters, let me die!”
Ann Short.
AnnShort, O Lord, of praising thee,Nothing I can do is right;Needy and naked, poor I be,Short, Lord, I am of sight:HowshortI am of love and grace!Of everything I’mshort,Renew me, then I’ll follow peaceThrough good and bad report.
AnnShort, O Lord, of praising thee,Nothing I can do is right;Needy and naked, poor I be,Short, Lord, I am of sight:HowshortI am of love and grace!Of everything I’mshort,Renew me, then I’ll follow peaceThrough good and bad report.
Under this stone lies Meredith Morgan,Who blew the bellows of our Church organ;Tobacco he hated, to smoke most unwilling,Yet never so pleased as when pipes he was filling;No reflection on him for rude speech could be cast,Tho’ he gave our old organist many a blast.No puffer was he,Tho’ a capital blower;He could fill double G,And now lies a note lower.
Under this stone lies Meredith Morgan,Who blew the bellows of our Church organ;Tobacco he hated, to smoke most unwilling,Yet never so pleased as when pipes he was filling;No reflection on him for rude speech could be cast,Tho’ he gave our old organist many a blast.No puffer was he,Tho’ a capital blower;He could fill double G,And now lies a note lower.
In the Cathedral of Sienna, celebrated for its floor inlaid with the History of the New Testament, is the following singular Epitaph, probably placed there as amemento to Italian Toby Philpots:—
“Wine gives life; it was death to me, I could not behold the dawn of morning in a sober state. Even my bones are now thirsty. Stranger, sprinkle my grave with wine; empty the flaggons and come. Farewell Drinkers!”
“Wine gives life; it was death to me, I could not behold the dawn of morning in a sober state. Even my bones are now thirsty. Stranger, sprinkle my grave with wine; empty the flaggons and come. Farewell Drinkers!”
Over a grave in Prince Edward’s Island.
Here lies the body of poor Charles Lamb,Killed by a tree that fell slap bang.
Here lies the body of poor Charles Lamb,Killed by a tree that fell slap bang.
Here lies the body of Gabriel John,Who died in the year of a thousand and one;Pray for the soul of Gabriel John,You may if you please,Or let it alone;For its all oneTo Gabriel John,Who died in the year of a thousand and one.
Here lies the body of Gabriel John,Who died in the year of a thousand and one;Pray for the soul of Gabriel John,You may if you please,Or let it alone;For its all oneTo Gabriel John,Who died in the year of a thousand and one.
Here lies John Bunn,Who was killed by a gun;His name wasn’t Bun, his real name was Wood,But Wood wouldn’t rhyme with gun, so I thought Bun should.
Here lies John Bunn,Who was killed by a gun;His name wasn’t Bun, his real name was Wood,But Wood wouldn’t rhyme with gun, so I thought Bun should.
In Memory ofTHE STATE LOTTERY,the last of a long linewhose origin in England commencedin the year 1569,which, after a series of tedious complaints,Expiredon the18th day of October, 1826.During a period of 257 years, the familyflourished under the powerful protectionof theBritish Parliament;the minister of the day continuing togive them his support for theimprovement of the revenue.As they increased, it was found that theircontinuance corrupted the morals,and encouraged a spiritof speculation and gambling among thelower classes of the people;thousands of whom fell victims to theirinsinuating and tempting allurements.Many philanthropic individualsin the Senateat various times for a series of years,pointed out their baneful influencewithout effect,His Majesty’s Ministersstill affording them their countenanceand protection.The British Parliamentbeing at length convinced of theirmischievous tendency,His Majesty George IV.,on the 9th July, 1823,pronounced sentence of condemnationon the whole race;from which time they were almostNeglected by the British Public.Very great efforts were made by thePartisans and friends of the family toexcitethe public feeling in favour of the lastof the race, in vain:it continued to linger out the fewremainingmoments of its existence without attentionor sympathy, and finally terminatedits career, unregretted by anyvirtuous mind.
In Memory ofTHE STATE LOTTERY,the last of a long linewhose origin in England commencedin the year 1569,which, after a series of tedious complaints,Expiredon the18th day of October, 1826.During a period of 257 years, the familyflourished under the powerful protectionof theBritish Parliament;the minister of the day continuing togive them his support for theimprovement of the revenue.As they increased, it was found that theircontinuance corrupted the morals,and encouraged a spiritof speculation and gambling among thelower classes of the people;thousands of whom fell victims to theirinsinuating and tempting allurements.Many philanthropic individualsin the Senateat various times for a series of years,pointed out their baneful influencewithout effect,His Majesty’s Ministersstill affording them their countenanceand protection.The British Parliamentbeing at length convinced of theirmischievous tendency,His Majesty George IV.,on the 9th July, 1823,pronounced sentence of condemnationon the whole race;from which time they were almostNeglected by the British Public.Very great efforts were made by thePartisans and friends of the family toexcitethe public feeling in favour of the lastof the race, in vain:it continued to linger out the fewremainingmoments of its existence without attentionor sympathy, and finally terminatedits career, unregretted by anyvirtuous mind.
’Twas by a fall I caught my death;No man can tell his time or breath;I might have died as soon as thenIf I had had physician men.
’Twas by a fall I caught my death;No man can tell his time or breath;I might have died as soon as thenIf I had had physician men.
On a Grocer.
Garret some call’d him,but that was too hye;His name is Garrardwho now here doth lie;Weepe not for him,since he is gone beforeTo heaven, where Grocersthere are many more.
Garret some call’d him,but that was too hye;His name is Garrardwho now here doth lie;Weepe not for him,since he is gone beforeTo heaven, where Grocersthere are many more.
THE END.
F. Pickton, Printer, Perry’s Place, 29 Oxford Street.
[48]A crown.
[80a]The stone joins to the south wall of the church, under one of the spouts.
[80b]Rufford Abbey, then the seat of Sir George Saville, Baronet, in whose family the person had lived as butler.
[90]A woman inferring that her husband is anass colt.