Puns in epitaphs have been very common, and may be found in Greek and Latin, and still more plentifully in our English compositions. In the French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, Dutch, and other languages, examples may also be found. Empedrocles wrote an epitaph containing the paronomasia, or pun, on a physician named Pausanias, and it has by Merivale been happily translated:—

Pausanias—not so nam’d without a cause,
As one who oft has giv’n to pain a pause,
Blest son of Æsculapius, good and wise,
Here, in his native Gela, buried lies;
Who many a wretch once rescu’d by his charms
From dark Persephone’s constraining arms.

In Holy Trinity Church, Hull, is an example of a punning epitaph. It is on a slab in the floor of the north aisle of the nave, to the memory of “The Worshipful Joseph Field, twice Mayor of this town, and Merchant Adventurer.” He died in 1627, aged 63 years:—

Here is a Field sown, that at length must sprout,
And ’gainst the ripening harvest’s time break out,
When to that Husband it a crop shall yield
Who first did dress and till this new-sown Field;
Yet ere this Field you see this crop can give,
The seed first dies, that it again may live.
Sit Deus amicus,
Sanctis, vel in Sepulchris spes est.

On Bishop Theophilus Field, in Hereford Cathedral, ob. 1636, is another specimen:—

The Sun that light unto three churches gave
Is set; this Field is buried in a grave.
This Sun shall rise, this Field renew his flowers,
This sweetness breathe for ages, not for hours.

He was successively Bishop of Llandaff, St. David’s, and Hereford.

The following rather singular epitaph, with a play upon the name, occurs in the chancel of Checkley Church, Staffordshire:—

From Hornsea Church we have the epitaph of Will Day, gentleman; he lived 34 years, died May 22nd, 1616:—

If that man’s life be likened to a day,
One here interr’d in youth did lose a day,
By death, and yet no loss to him at all,
For he a threefold day gain’d by his fall;
One day of rest is bliss celestial,
Two days on earth by gifts terrestryall—
Three pounds at Christmas, three at Easter Day,
Given to the poure until the world’s last day,
This was no cause to heaven; but, consequent,
Who thither will, must tread the steps he went.
For why? Faith, Hope, and Christian Charity,
Perfect the house framed for eternity.

On the east wall of the Chancel of Kettlethorpe Church, co. Lincoln, is a tablet to the memory of “Johannes Becke, quondam Rector istius ecclesiÆ,” who died 1597, with the following lines in old English characters:—

I am a Becke, or river as you know,
And wat’red here ye church, ye schole, ye pore,
While God did make my springes here for to flow:
But now my fountain stopt, it runs no more;
From Church and schole mi life ys now bereft,
But no ye pore four poundes I yearly left.

We may add that the stream of his charity still flows, and is yearly distributed amongst the poor of Kettlethorpe.Bishop Sanderson, in his “Survey of Lincoln Cathedral,” gives the following epitaph of Dr. William Cole, Dean of Lincoln, who died in 1600. The upper part of the stone, with Dr. Cole’s arms, is, or was lately, in the Cathedral, but the epitaph has been lost:—

Reader, behold the pious pattern here
Of true devotion and of holy fear.
He sought God’s glory and the churches good.
Idle idol worship he withstood.
Yet dyed in peace, whose body here doth lie
In expectation of eternity.
And when the latter trump of heaven shall blow
Cole, now rak’d up in ashes, then shall glow.

Here is another from Lincoln Cathedral, on Dr. Otwell Hill:—

’Tis Otwell Hill, a holy Hill,
And truly, sooth to say,
Upon this Hill be praised still
The Lord both night and day.
Upon this Hill, this Hill did cry
Aloud the scripture letter,
And strove your wicked villains by
Good conduct to make better.
And now this Hill, tho’ under stones,
Has the Lord’s Hill to lie on;
For Lincoln Hill has got his bones,
His soul the Hill of Sion.

The Guardian, for 3rd Dec., 1873, gives the following epitaph as being in Lillington Church, Dorset, on the grave of a man named Cole, who died in 1669:—

Reader, you have within this grave
A Cole rak’d up in dust.
His courteous Fate saw it was Late,
And that to Bed he must.
Soe all was swept up to be Kept
Alive until the day
The Trump shall blow it up and shew
The Cole but sleeping lay.
Then do not doubt the Coles not out
Though it in ashes lyes,
That little sparke now in the Darke
Will like the Phoenyx rise.

Our next example was inscribed in Peterborough Cathedral, to the memory of Sir Richard Worme, ob. 1589:—

Does Worm eat Worme? Knight Worme this truth confirms,
For here, with worms, lies Worme, a dish for worms.
Does worm eat Worme? sure Worme will this deny,
For Worme with worms, a dish for worms don’t lie.
’Tis so, and ’tis not so, for free from worms
’Tis certain Worme is blest without his worms.

On a person named Cave, at Barrow-on-Soar, Leicestershire, we have the following epitaph:

Here, in this Grave, there lies a Cave.
We call a Cave a Grave:
If Cave be Grave, and Grave be Cave,
Then, reader, judge, I crave,
Whether doth Cave here lie in Grave
Or Grave here lie in Cave:
If Grave in Cave here buried lie,
Then Grave, where is thy victory?
Go reader, and report, here lies a Cave,
Who conquers Death, and buries his own Grave.In Bletchley, ob. 1615, on Mrs. Rose Sparke:—

From several punning epitaphs on the name of Rose we give one more specimen. It is from Tawton Church, ob. 1652, on Rose Dart:—

A Rose springing Branch no sooner bloom’d,
By Death’s impartial Dart lyes here entombed.
Tho’ wither’d be the Bud, the stock relyes
On Christ, both sure by Faith and Hope to rise.

In Barnstaple Church, ob. 1627, on Grace Medford, is an epitaph as follows:—

Scarce seven years old this Grace in glory ends,
Nature condemns, but Grace the change commends;
For Gracious children, tho’ they die at seven,
Are heirs-apparent to the Court of Heaven.
Then grudge not nature at so short a Race;
Tho’ short, yet sweet, for surely ’twas God’s Grace.

On a punster the following was written:—

Beneath the gravel and these stones,
Lies poor Jack Tiffey’s skin and bones;
His flesh I oft have heard him say,
He hoped in time would make good hay;
Quoth I, “How can that come to pass?”
And he replied, “All flesh is grass!”