HIC JACET ? ? ? SACRUM MEMORIÆ. Earth’s highest station ends in HERE HE LIES! And DUST TO DUST concludes her noblest song. Emigravit is the inscription on the tombstone where he lies: Dead he is not, but departed, for the Christian never dies. A hieroglyph formed by the two first letters of the Greek word Christos, intersecting the Chi longitudinally by the Rho,—a palm-leaf, or a wreath of palm-leaves, indicating victory,—a crown, which speaks of the reward of the saints,—an immortelle, or a vessel supporting a column of flame, indicating continued life,—an anchor, which indicates hope,—a ship under sail, which says, “Heavenward bound,”—the letters Alpha and Omega, the Apocalyptic title of Christ,—the dove, the emblem of innocence and holiness,—the winged insect escaping from the chrysalis, typical of the resurrection,—the cross, the Christian’s true and only glory in life and death, by which he is crucified to the world, and the world to him,—these are the emblems that speak to the Christian’s heart of faith, and hope, and love, and humility. EPITAPHS OF EMINENT MEN. Christopher Columbus died at Valladolid, May 20, 1506, Æt. 70. In 1513 his body was taken to Seville, on the Guadalquivir, and there deposited in the family vault of the Dukes of Alcala, in the Cathedral. Upon a tablet was inscribed, in Castilian, this meagre couplet, which is still legible:— A Castilla y Arragon Otro mondo dio Colon.[23] [To Castile and Aragon Columbus gave another world.] In 1536, the remains of the great navigator were conveyed to St. Domingo and deposited in the Cathedral, where they continued until a recent period, when they were finally disinterred, and removed to Havana. The inscription on the tablet in the Cathedral of St. Domingo, now obliterated, was as follows:— Hic locus abscondit prÆclari membra Columbi Cujus nomen ad astra volat. Non satis unus erat sibi mundus notus, at orbem Ignotum priscis omnibus ipse dedit; Divitias summas terras dispersit in omnes, Atque animas coelo tradidit innumeras; Invenit campos divinis legibus aptos, Regibus et nostris prospera regna dedit.[24] William Shakspeare died April 23, 1616, Æt. 52, and was buried in the chancel of the church of Stratford. The monument erected to his memory represents the poet with a thoughtful countenance, resting on a cushion and in the act of writing. Immediately below the cushion is the following distich:— Judicio Pylium; genio Socratem; arte Maronem: Terra tegit; populis moerot; Olympus habet.[25] On a tablet underneath are inscribed these lines:— Stay, passenger: why dost thou go so fast? Read, if thou canst, whom envious death hath placed Within this monument,—Shakspeare; with whom Quick Nature died; whose name doth deck the tomb Far more than cost; since all that he hath writ Leaves living Art but page to serve his wit: and on the flat stone covering the grave is inscribed, in very irregular characters, the following quaint supplication, blessing, and menace:— Good Friend, for Jesvs sake forbeare To digg T-E dvst EncloAsed HERE; Blest be T-E Man T
Y spares T-hs stones, And evrst be He T
Y moves my bones. SIR ISAAC NEWTON, OB. 1727, ÆT. 85. Here lies interred Isaac Newton, knight, who, with an energy of mind almost divine, guided by the light of mathematics purely his own, first demonstrated the motions and figures of the planets, the paths of comets, and the causes of the tides; who discovered, what before his time no one had ever suspected, that the rays of light are differently refrangible, and that this is the cause of colors; and who was a diligent, penetrating, and faithful interpreter of nature, antiquity, and the sacred writings. In his philosophy, he maintained the majesty of the Supreme Being; in his manners, he expressed the simplicity of the Gospel. Let mortals congratulate themselves that the world has seen so great and excellent a man, the glory of human nature. Pope’s inscription is as follows:— Isaacus Newtonus: Quem Immortalem Testantur Tempus, Natura, Coelum: Mortalem Hoc marmor fatetur. Nature and nature’s laws lay hid in night: God said, Let Newton be! and all was light. JOHNSON’S EPITAPH ON GOLDSMITH.[26] Thou seest the tomb of Oliver; retire, Unholy feet, nor o’er his ashes tread. Ye whom the deeds of old, verse, nature, fire, Mourn nature’s priest, the bard, historian, dead. COWPER’S EPITAPH ON DR. JOHNSON. Here Johnson lies,—a sage by all allowed, Whom to have bred may well make England proud; Whose prose was eloquence, by wisdom taught, The graceful vehicle of virtuous thought; Whose verse may claim—grave, masculine and strong— Superior praise to the mere poet’s song; Who many a noble gift from heaven possessed, And faith at last, alone worth all the rest. O man immortal by a double prize, By fame on earth,—by glory in the skies! GEORGE WASHINGTON, ob. Dec. 14, 1799, Æt. 67. When, in 1838, the remains of Washington were removed from the old vault into the new, at Mount Vernon, the coffin was placed in a beautiful sarcophagus of white marble, from a quarry in Chester county, Pennsylvania, and prepared in Philadelphia by the gentleman who presented it. The lid is wrought with the arms of the country and the inscription here appended. Independently of other considerations, it is desirable, for the honor of the nation so largely indebted to Washington, that his grave should be something more than an advertising medium for a marble-mason. But the faithful chronicler must take things as he finds them, not always as they should be:— WASHINGTON. By the permission of Lawrence Lewis, The surviving executor of George Washington, this sarcophagus was presented by John Struthers, of Philadelphia, Marble Mason, A.D. 1837. The stone and the inscription over the grave of Franklin and his wife, at the corner of Fifth and Arch Streets, Philadelphia, and recently opened to public view by substituting for the old brick wall a neat iron railing, are according to his own direction in his will. The exceeding plainness of both are strikingly characteristic of the man. The stone is a simple marble slab, six feet by four, lying horizontally, and raised about a foot above the ground. It bears the following:— | Benjamin | } | | AND | } Franklin. | | Deborah | } | | 1790. | The following is a copy of the epitaph written by Franklin upon himself, at the age of twenty-three, while a journeyman printer:— The Body of Benjamin Franklin, Printer, (Like the cover of an old book, Its contents torn out, And stript of its lettering and gilding,) Lies food for worms: Yet the work itself shall not be lost, For it will [as he believed] appear once more, In a new And more beautiful edition, Corrected and amended by The Author. That this well-known typographical inscription was plagiarized from Mather’s Magnalia Christi Americana, is evident from Franklin’s own admission of his familiarity with the works of “the great Cotton.” To the perusal in early life of Mather’s excellent volume, Essays to do Good, published in 1710, Franklin ascribed all his “usefulness in the world.” The lines alluded to in the famous Ecclesiastical History are by Benjamin Woodbridge, a member of the first graduating class of Harvard University, 1642:— A living, breathing Bible; tables where Both Covenants at large engraven were. Gospel and law, in ’s heart, had each its column; His head an index to the sacred volume; His very name a title-page; and, next, His life a commentary on the text. O what a monument of glorious worth, When, in a new edition, he comes forth! Without errata may we think he’ll be, In leaves and covers of eternity! Old Joseph Capen, minister of Topsfield, had also, in 1681, given John Foster, who set up the first printing-press in Boston, the benefit of the idea, in memoriam:— Thy body, which no activeness did lack, Now’s laid aside like an old almanac, But for the present only’s out of date; ’Twill have at length a far more active state. Yea, though with dust thy body soilÉd be, Yet at the resurrection we shall see A fair edition, and of matchless worth, Free from errata, new in Heaven set forth; ’Tis but a word from God, the great Creator— It shall be done when he saith Imprimatur. Davis, in his Travels in America, finds another source in a Latin epitaph on the London bookseller Jacob Tonson, published with an English translation in the Gentleman’s Magazine for Feb., 1736. This is its conclusion:— When Heaven reviewed th’ original text, ’Twas with erratas few perplexed: Pleased with the copy ’t was collated, And to a better life translated. But let to life this supplement Be printed on thy monument, Lest the first page of death should be, Great editor, a blank to thee; And thou who many titles gave Should want one title for this grave. Stay, passenger, and drop a tear; Here lies a noted Bookseller; This marble index here is placed To tell, that when he found defaced His book of life, he died with grief: Yet he, by true and genuine belief, A new edition may expect, Far more enlarged and more correct. AT MONTICELLO, VA. Here lies buried Thomas Jefferson, Author of the Declaration of American Independence, Of the Statute of Virginia for Religious Freedom, And Father of the University of Virginia. WILLIAM HOGARTH. Garrick’s epitaph on Hogarth at Chiswick is well known. That written by Dr. Johnson is shorter and superior:— The hand of him here torpid lies, That drew the essential form of grace; Here closed in death the attentive eyes That saw the manners in the face. LORD BROUGHAM’S EPITAPH ON WATT, WESTMINSTER ABBEY. Not to perpetuate a name Which must endure while the peaceful arts flourish, But to show That mankind have learned to honor those Who best deserve their gratitude, The King, his Ministers, and many of the Nobles And Commoners of the Realm Raised this Monument to James Watt, Who, directing the force of an original genius, Early exercised in philosophic research, To the improvement of The Steam Engine, Enlarged the resources of his Country, Increased the power of man, And rose to an eminent place Among the most illustrious followers of Science And the real benefactors of the World. EULOGISTIC, APT, APPROPRIATE. BEN JONSON’S ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE. Underneath this marble hearse Lies the subject of all verse, Sydney’s sister,—Pembroke’s mother. Death, ere thou hast slain another Fair, and wise, and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee! Marble piles let no man raise To her name for after days; Some kind woman born as she, Reading this, like Niobe, Shall turn marble, and become Both her mourner and her tomb. ON ANOTHER LADY FRIEND. Underneath this stone doth lie As much beauty as could die, Which in life did harbor give To more virtue than doth live. ANDREW JACKSON’S EPITAPH ON HIS WIFE. Here lie the remains of Mrs. Rachel Jackson, wife of President Jackson, who died December 22d, 1828, aged 61. Her face was fair, her person pleasing, her temper amiable, and her heart kind. She delighted in relieving the wants of her fellow-creatures, and cultivated that divine pleasure by the most liberal and unpretending methods. To the poor she was a benefactress; to the rich she was an example; to the wretched a comforter; to the prosperous an ornament. Her pity went hand in hand with her benevolence; and she thanked her Creator for being permitted to do good. A being so gentle and yet so virtuous, slander might wound, but could not dishonor. Even death, when he tore her from the arms of her husband, could but transplant her to the bosom of her God. BISHOP LOWTH’S EPITAPH ON HIS DAUGHTER. Cara, vale, ingenio prÆstans, pietate, pudore, Et plus quam natÆ nomine cara, vale. Cara Maria, vale: ab veniet felicius Ævum, Quando iterum tecum, sim modo dignus, ero. Cara redi, lÆt tum dicam voce, paternos Eja age in amplexus, cara Maria, redi! [Dearer than daughter,—paralleled by few In genius, goodness, modesty,—adieu! Adieu! Maria,—till that day more blest, When, if deserving, I with thee shall rest. Come, then, thy sire will cry in joyful strain, Oh, come to my paternal arms again.] IN THE CHURCHYARD OF OLD ST. PANCRAS. Miss Basnett, 1756, Æt. 23. Go, spotless honor and unsullied truth; Go, smiling innocence, and blooming youth; Go, female sweetness joined with manly sense; Go, winning wit, that never gave offence; Go, soft humanity, that blest the poor; Go, saint-eyed patience, from affliction’s door Go, modesty that never wore a frown; Go, virtue, and receive thy heavenly crown. Not from a stranger came this heartfelt verse: The friend inscribed thy tomb, whose tear bedewed thy hearse. MALHERBE’S EPITAPH ON A YOUNG LADY. Elle Était de ce monde, ou les plus belles choses Ont le pire destin; Et, rose, elle a vÉcu ce que vivent les roses, L’espace d’un matin. [She was of this world, where all things the rarest Have still the shortest race; A rose she lived (so lives of flowers the fairest) A little morning’s space!] IN ST. MARY’S CHURCH, NOTTINGHAM. Sleep on in peace; await thy Maker’s will; Then rise unchanged, and be an angel still! In the church of Ightham, near Sevenoaks, Kent, is a mural monument with the bust of a lady, who was famous for her needle-work and was traditionally reported to have written the letter to Lord Monteagle which resulted in the discovery of the Gunpowder Plot. The following is the inscription:— D. D. D. To the pretious name and honour of Dame Dorothy Selby, Relict of Sir William Selby, Kt. the only daughter and heire of Charles Bonham, Esq. She was a Dorcas, Whose curious needle wound the abused stage Of this leud world into the golden age; Whose pen of steel and silken inck enrolled The acts of Jonah in records of gold; Whose arte disclosed that plot, which, had it taken, Rome had triumphed, and Britain’s walls had shaken. She was In heart a Lydia, and in tongue a Hanna; In zeale a Ruth, in wedlock a Susanna; Prudently simple, providently wary, To the world a Martha, and to heaven a Mary. Who put on { in the year } Pilgrimage, 69. immortality { of her } Redeemer, 1641. AT WESTFIELD, N. J. Mrs. Jennet Woodruff, 1750, Æt. 43. The dame, that rests within this tomb, Had Rachel’s beauty, Leah’s fruitful womb, Abigail’s wisdom, Lydia’s faithful heart, Martha’s just care, and Mary’s better part. AT QUINCY, MASS. Braintree, thy prophet’s gone; this tomb inters The Rev. Moses Fiske his sacred herse. Adore heaven’s praiseful art, that formed the man, Who souls, not to himself, but Christ oft won; Sailed through the straits with Peter’s family Renowned, and Gaius’ hospitality, Paul’s patience, James’s prudence, John’s sweet love, Is landed, entered, cleared, and crowned above. IN CRANSTON, R.I. Here lies the Body of Joseph Williams, Esq. Son of Roger Williams, Esq. (The first white man that came to Providence.) Born 1644. Died 1725. In King Philip’s war, he courageously went through, And the native Indians he bravely did subdue; And now he’s gone down into the grave, and he will be no more Until it please Almighty God his body to restore Into some proper shape, as he thinks fit to be, Perhaps like a grain of wheat, as Paul set forth, you see, Corinthians 1 Book, 15 chap. 37 verse. ON THE TOMB OF MRS. DUNBAR, TRENTON, N.J. The meed of merit ne’er shall die, Nor modest worth neglected lie, The fame that pious virtue gives, The Memphian monuments outlives. Reader, wouldst thou secure such praise, Go, learn Religion’s pleasant ways. POPE’S EPITAPH ON HARCOURT. To this sad shrine, whoe’er thou art! draw near; Here lies the friend most loved, the son most dear: Who ne’er knew joy but friendship might divide, Or gave his father grief but when he died. The idea in the last line appears to be derived from an epitaph on an excellent wife, in the Roman catacombs:— Conjugi piissimÆ de qua nihil aliud dolitus est nisi mortem. ON A SPANISH GIRL WHO DIED BROKEN-HEARTED. She who lies beneath this stone Died of constancy alone: Fear not to approach, oh, passer-by— Of naught contagious did she die. One of the simplest, truest, and most dignified epitaphs ever written may be found in the Spectator, No. 518:— Hic jacet R. C. in expectatione diei supremi. Qualis erat dies iste indicabit. AT BARNSTABLE, MASS. Rev. Joseph Green, 1770, Æt. 70. Think what the Christian minister should be, You’ve then his character, for such was he. A similar epitaph may be found in Torrington churchyard, Devon:— She was—but words are wanting to say what. Think what a woman should be—she was that. Which provoked the following reply:— A woman should be both a wife and mother, But Jenny Jones was neither one nor t’other. AT GRIMSTEAD, ESSEX. A wife so true, there are but few, And difficult to find; A wife more just, and true to trust, There is not left behind. AT BATON ROUGE, LA. Here lies the body of David Jones. His last words were, “I die a Christian and a Democrat.” AT ELIZABETH CITY, N. J. Elias Boudinot, 1770, Æt. 63. This modest stone, what few vain marbles can, May truly say, Here lies an honest man. [27] ON SIR THOMAS VERE. When Vere sought death, armed with his sword and shield, Death was afraid to meet him in the field; But when his weapons he had laid aside, Death, like a coward, struck him, and he died. BEN JONSON’S EPITAPH ON MICHAEL DRAYTON. (One of the Elizabethan Poets, ob. 1631.) Do, pious Marble, let thy readers know What they and what their children owe To Drayton’s name, whose sacred dust We recommend unto thy TRUST: Protect his memory and preserve his story, Remain a lasting monument of his glory; And when thy ruins shall disclaim To be the treasurer of his name, His name, that cannot fade, shall be An everlasting monument to thee! The epigrammatic turn in the concluding stanza was evidently plagiarized from Ion’s inscription upon the tomb of Euripides, which is thus faithfully translated:— Divine Euripides, this tomb we see So fair, is not a monument for thee, So much as thou for it; since all will own Thy name and lasting praise adorn the stone. IN TICHFIELD CHURCH, HANTS. The Husband, speakinge trewly of his wife, Read his losse in hir death, hir praise in life: Heare Lucie Quinsie Bromfield buried lies, With neighbors sad deepe, weepinge, hartes, sighes, eyes. Children eleaven, tenne livinge, me she brought. More kind, trewe, chaste was noane, in deed, word, thought. Howse, children, state, by hir was ruld, bred, thrives. One of the best of maides, of women, wives, Now gone to God, her heart sent long before; In fasting, prayer, faith, hope, and alms’ deedes stoare. If anie faulte, she lovÉd me too much. Ah, pardon that, for ther are too fewe such! Then, reader, if thou not hard-hearted be, Praise God for hir, but sigh and praie for me. Heare, by hir dead, I dead desire to lie, Till, raised to life, wee meet no more to die. 1618. ON INFANTS AND CHILDREN. The following epitaph on an infant is by Samuel Wesley, the author of the caustic lines on the custom of perpetuating lies on monumental marble, by commemorating virtues which never had an existence,—ending thus:— If on his specious marble we rely, Pity such worth as his should ever die! If credit to his real life we give, Pity a wretch like him should ever live! ON AN INFANT. Beneath, a sleeping infant lies. To earth whose ashes lent More glorious shall hereafter rise, But not more innocent. When the archangel’s trump shall blow, And souls and bodies join, What crowds will wish their lives below Had been as short as thine! ON FOUR INFANTS BURIED IN THE SAME TOMB. Bold infidelity, turn pale and die! Beneath this stone four infants’ ashes lie: Say, are they lost or saved? If death’s by sin, they sinned; for they are here; If heaven’s by works, in heaven they can’t appear. Reason, ah, how depraved! Revere the Bible’s sacred page; the knot’s untied: They died, for Adam sinned; they live, for Jesus died. IN MOUNT AUBURN CEMETERY. On the base of a beautiful recumbent statuette in Yarrow Path is inscribed:— EMILY. Shed not for her the bitter tear, Nor give the heart to vain regret; Tis but the casket that lies here: The gem that filled it sparkles yet. ON A LITTLE BOY IN GREENWOOD CEMETERY. Our God, to call us homeward, His only Son sent down; And now, still more to tempt our hearts, Has taken up our own. ON THE TOMBSTONE OF A CHILD BLIND FROM BIRTH. There shall be no night there. ON A CHILD FOUR YEARS OLD, WHO WAS BURNED TO DEATH. “O!” Says the gardener, as he passes down the walk, “Who destroyed that flower? Who plucked that plant?” His fellow-servant said, “The Master.” And the gardener held his peace. AT LITIZ, LANCASTER COUNTY, PA. Oh, blest departed one! Whose all of life—a rosy ray— Blushed into dawn and passed away. Uhland’s beautiful epitaph on an infant[28] has been thus paraphrased:— Thou art come and gone with footfall low, A wanderer hastening to depart; Whither, and whence? we only know From God thou wast, with God thou art. Better than this in spirit, by all that makes Christian faith and hope better than vague questioning, and fully equal to it in poetic merit, is the following by F. T. Palgrave:— Pure, sweet, and fair, ere thou could’st taste of ill, God willed it and thy baby breath was still; Now ’mong his lambs thou livest thy Saviour’s care, Forever as thou wast, pure, sweet and fair. COPIED FROM VARIOUS SOURCES. Just with her lips the cup of life she pressed, Found the taste bitter and declined the rest; Averse then turning from the light of day, She softly sighed her little soul away.
The child that sleeps within this silent tomb Departed at the end of two short years: Many will wish when the great Judge shall come, They’d lived no longer in this vale of tears.
This lovely bud, so young, so fair, Called hence by early doom, Just came to show how sweet a flower In Paradise would bloom. This by Burton, author of The Anatomy of Melancholy:— Can nurse choose in her sweet babe more to find Than goods of Fortune, Body, and of Mind? Lo here at once all this; what greater bliss Canst hope or wish? Heaven. Why there he is. ON A TOMBSTONE IN AUVERGNE. Marie was the only child of her mother, “And she was a widow.” Marie sleeps in this grave— And the widow has now no child. HISTORICAL EPITAPH. A person of the name of Mary Scott was buried near the church of Dalkeith, in 1728, for whom the following singular epitaph was composed, but never engraved on her tombstone, though it has been frequently mentioned as copied from it:— Stop, passenger, until my life you read: The living may get knowledge from the dead. Five times five years unwedded was my life; Five times five years I was a virtuous wife; Ten times five years I wept a widow’s woes; Now, tired of human scenes, I here repose. Betwixt my cradle and my grave were seen Seven mighty Kings of Scotland and a Queen. Full twice five years the Commonwealth I saw, Ten times the subjects rise against the law; And, which is worse than any civil war, A king arraigned before the subjects’ bar; Swarms of sectarians, hot with hellish rage, Cut off his royal head upon the stage. Twice did I see old Prelacy pulled down, And twice the cloak did sink beneath the gown. I saw the Stuart race thrust out,—nay, more, I saw our country sold for English ore; Our numerous nobles, who have famous been, Sunk to the lowly number of sixteen; Such desolation in my days have been, I have an end of all perfection seen. In Memory of Mrs. Phebe Crewe, who died May 28, 1817, aged 77 years; who, during forty years’ practice as a midwife in this city, brought into the world nine thousand seven hundred and thirty children. IN THE ABBEY CHURCH OF CONWAY. Here lyeth the body of Nichlas Hooker, who was the one and fortieth child of his father by Alice his only wife, and the father of seven and twenty children by one wife. He died March 20th, 1637. AT WOLSTANTON. Mrs. Ann Jennings. Some have children, some have none: Here lies the mother of twenty-one. IN THE CHURCHYARD OF HEYDON. Here lieth the body of William Strutton, of Paddington, buried May 18th, 1734, who had by his first wife, 28 children, and by a second wife, 17; own father to 45, grandfather to 86, great-grandfather to 97, and great-great-grandfather to 23; in all, 251. IN THE CHURCHYARD OF PEWSEY, WILTSHIRE. Here lies the body of Lady O’Looney, great-niece of Burke, commonly called the sublime. She was bland, passionate, and deeply religious; also, she painted in water-colors, and sent several pictures to the exhibition. She was first cousin to Lady Jones; and of such is the kingdom of heaven. IN CRAYFORD CHURCHYARD, KENT. Here lieth the body of Peter Snell, thirty-five years clerk of the parish. He lived respected as a pious and faithful man, and died on his way to church to assist at a wedding, on the 31st day of March, 1811. Aged 70 years. The inhabitants of Crayford have raised this stone to his cheerful memory, and as a tribute to his long and faithful services. The life of this clerk was just threescore and ten, Nearly half of which time he had sung out Amen. In his youth he was married, like other young men, But his wife died one day, so he chanted Amen. A second he took; she departed: what then? He married and buried a third with Amen. Thus his joys and his sorrows were treble; but then His voice was deep bass, as he sang out Amen. On the horn he could blow as well as most men, So “his horn was exalted” in blowing Amen. But he lost all his wind after threescore and ten, And here with his wives he waits till again The trumpet shall rouse him to sing out Amen. AT WREXHAM, WALES. Elihu Yale, (founder of Yale College,) ob. 1721, Æt. 73. Born in America, in Europe bred, In Afric travelled, and in Asia wed; Where long he lived and thrived, in London dead. Much good, some ill, he did; so hope all’s even, And that his soul through mercy’s gone to Heaven. You that survive, and read this tale, take care, For this most certain exit to prepare, Where, blest in peace, the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in the silent dust. SELF-WRITTEN. MATTHEW PRIOR’S. Painters and heralds, by your leave, Here lie the bones of Matthew Prior, The son of Adam and of Eve:— Let Bourbon or Nassau go higher! It is said (and the statement appears highly probable) that Prior borrowed his lines from the following very ancient epitaph upon a tombstone in Scotland:— John Carnagie lies here, Descended from Adam and Eve; If any can boast of a pedigree higher, He will willingly give them leave. COLERIDGE’S. Stop, Christian passer-by! stop, child of God, And read with gentle heart. Beneath this sod A poet lies, or that which once seemed he:— O lift a thought in prayer for S. T. C., That he, who many a year with toil of breath Found death in life, may here find life in death; Mercy for praise, to be forgiven for fame, He asked, and hoped through Christ. Do thou the same! JOHN BACON’S, TOTTENHAM COURT CHAPEL. What I was as an Artist Seemed to me of some importance while I lived; But what I really was as a believer in Christ Jesus, is the only thing of importance to me now. DR. COOPER’S, EDINBURGH. Here lies a priest of English blood, Who, living, liked whate’er was good,— Good company, good wine, good name, Yet never hunted after fame; But as the first he still preferred, So here he chose to be interred, And, unobscured, from crowds withdrew To rest among a chosen few, In humble hopes that sovereign love Will raise him to be blest above. POPE ADRIAN’S. Adrianus, Papa VI., hic situs est, que nihil sibi Infelicius in vita, quam quod imperaret duxit. SHEIL’S, (THE IRISH ORATOR). Here lie I. There’s an end to my woes. And my spirit at length at aise is, With the tip of my nose, and the ends of my toes, Turned up ’gainst the roots of the daisies. The eccentric Sternhold Oakes offered a reward for the best epitaph for his grave. Several tried for the prize, but they flattered him too much, he thought. At last he undertook it himself; and the following was the result:— Here lies the body of Sternhold Oakes, Who lived and died like other folks. That was satisfactory, and the old gentleman claimed the prize, which, as he had the paying of it, was of course allowed. MORALIZING AND ADMONITORY. AT KENNEBUNK, MAINE. Rev. Daniel Little, 1801. Memento mori! preached his ardent youth, Memento mori! spoke maturer years; Memento mori! sighed his latest breath, Memento mori! now this stone declares. AT ANDOVER, MASS. John Abbot, 1793, Æt. 90. Grass, smoke, a flower, a vapor, shade, a span, Serve to illustrate the frail life of man; And they, who longest live, survive to see The certainty of death, of life the vanity. IN LLANGOWEN CHURCHYARD, WALES. Our life is but a summer’s day: Some only breakfast, and away; Others to dinner stay, and are full fed; The oldest man but sups, and goes to bed. Large his account, who lingers out the day; Who goes the soonest, has the least to pay. IN ST. SAVIOUR’S CHURCHYARD, SOUTHWARK. Like to the damask rose you see, Or like the blossom on the tree, Or like the dainty flower of May, Or like the morning of the day, Or like the sun, or like the shade, Or like the gourd which Jonas had; Even so is man, whose thread is spun, Drawn out, and cut, and so is done. The rose withers, the blossom blasteth, The flower fades, the morning hasteth: The sun sets, the shadow flies, The gourd consumes, and man he dies. IN GILLINGHAM CHURCHYARD, ENG. Take time in time while time doth last, For time is not time when time is past. GARRICK’S EPITAPH ON QUINN, ABBEY CHURCH, BATH. Here lies James Quinn! Deign reader, to be taught, Whate’er thy strength of body, force of thought, In nature’s happiest mould however cast, To this complexion thou must come at last. IN NEWINGTON CHURCHYARD. Through Christ, I am not inferior To William the Conqueror. IN LINCOLNSHIRE, ENGLAND. Under this solitary sod There lies a man Whose ways were very odd: Whatever his faults were, Let them alone. Let thy utmost care be To mend thine own: Let him without a sin First cast a stone. ADVERTISING INSCRIPTIONS AND NOTICES. IN WILTSHIRE, ENGLAND. Beneath this stone in hopes of Zion, Is laid the landlord of the Lion. Resigned unto the heavenly will, His son keeps on the business still. In the cemetery of Montmartre, a memorial to a Parisian tradesman, killed in an Émeute in the earlier part of the reign of Louis Phillippe, concludes with this advertisement:— This tomb was executed by his bereaved widow (veuve dÉsolÉe,) who still carries on his business at No. — Rue St. Martin. This announcement is from a Spanish journal:— This morning our Saviour summoned away the jeweller Siebald Illmaga from his shop to another and better world. The undersigned, his widow, will weep upon his tomb, as will also his two daughters, Hilda and Emma, the former of whom is married, and the latter is open to an offer. The funeral will take place to-morrow. His disconsolate widow, Veronique Illmaga. P. S.—This bereavement will not interrupt our business, which will be carried on as usual, only our place of business will be removed from No. 3, Tessi de Teinturiers, to No. 4 Rue de Missionaire, as our grasping landlord has raised our rent. UNIQUE AND LUDICROUS EPITAPHS. ON A CONNECTICUT MAN WITH A REMARKABLE TUMOR. Our father lies beneath the sod, His spirit’s gone unto his God; We never more shall hear his tread, Nor see the wen upon his head. ON THE BELOVED PARTNER OF ROBERT KEMP. She once was mine But now, oh, Lord, I her to Thee resign, and remain your obedient, humble servant, Robert Kemp. ON A MISER. Here lies old Father Gripe, who never cried Jam satis; ’Twould wake him did he know you read his tombstone gratis. REQUIESCAT IN PACE. Here lies the body of Obadiah Wilkinson, and Ruth, his wife: Their warfare is accomplished. ON MISS GWIN. Here lies the body of Nancy Gwin, Who was so very pure within, She burst her outward shell of sin, And hatched herself a cherubim. Whether this, from a village churchyard, is an improvement on Young, is a question:— Death loves a shining mark, and In this case he had it. EPITAPH FOR A GREAT TALKER. Hic tacet—instead of hic jacet. IN OTSEGO COUNTY, N. Y. (On this a commentator remarks, “Most men suffer enough above ground without being bunglingly abused, post mortem, in ill-written inscriptions which were at least intended to be civil. We suppose the words were simply intended to record the man’s name; but they look marvellously like a noun substantive coupled with a verb in the indicative mood, and affording a sad indication that John burns. There is no hint that John deserved the fate to which he appears to have been consigned since his decease, and we can only say as we read the startling declaration, we should be very sorry to believe it.”) In the church of Stoke Holy Cross, near Norwich, Eng., is the following epitaph:— In the womb of this tomb twins in expectation lay, To be born in the morn of the Resurrection day. IN A CHURCHYARD IN CORNWALL. Here lies the body of Gabriel John, Who died in the year one thousand and one; Pray for the soul of Gabriel John, You may, if you please, or let it alone, For it’s all one To Gabriel John, Who died in the year one thousand and one. IN MORETON CHURCHYARD. Here lies the bones of Roger Norton, Whose sudden death was oddly brought on: Trying one day his corns to mow off, The razor slipt and cut his toe off! The toe—or, rather, what it grew to— An inflammation quickly flew to; The part then took to mortifying, Which was the cause of Roger’s dying. ON A WOOD-CUTTER, OCKHAM, SURREY, 1736. The Lord saw good, I was lopping off wood, And down fell from the tree; I met with a check, and I broke my neck, And so death lopped off me. A stone-cutter received the following epitaph from a German, to be cut upon the tombstone of his wife:— Mine vife Susan is dead, if she had life till nex friday she’d bin dead shust two veeks. As a tree falls so must it stan, all tings is impossible mit God. IN CHILDWALL PARISH, ENGLAND. Here lies me, and my three daughters, Brought here by using Cheltenham waters. If we had stuck to Epsom salts We wouldn’t be in these here vaults. AT OXFORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE. To all my friends I bid adieu, A more sudden death you never knew, As I was leading the old mare to drink, She kicked, and killed me quicker’n a wink. A SOUTH CAROLINA TRIBUTE TO DEPARTED WORTH. Here lies the boddy of Robert Gordin, Mouth almighty and teeth ackordin, Stranger tread lightly over this wonder, If he opens his mouth, you are gone by thunder. ON AN EAST TENNESSEE LADY. She lived a life of virtue, and died of the cholera morbus, caused by eating green fruit, in hope of a blessed immortality, at the early age of 21 years, 7 months and 16 days! Reader, ‘Go thou and do likewise.’ FROM SOLYHULL CHURCHYARD, WARWICKSHIRE. The following epitaph was written by a certain Rev. Dr. Greenwood on his wife, who died in childbirth. One hardly knows which to admire most,—the merit of the couplet wherein he celebrates her courage and magnanimity in preferring him to a lord or judge, or the sound advice with which he closes. Go, cruel Death, thou hast cut down The fairest Greenwood in all this kingdom! Her virtues and good qualities were such That surely she deserved a lord or judge; But her piety and humility Made her prefer me, a Doctor in Divinity; Which heroic action, joined to all the rest, Made her to be esteemed the Phoenix of her sex; And like that bird, a young she did create To comfort those her loss had made disconsolate. My grief for her was so sore That I can only utter two lines more: For this and all other good women’s sake, Never let blisters be applied to a lying-in woman’s back. Robert Baxter of Farhouse, who died in 1796, was believed to have been poisoned by a neighbor with whom he had a violent quarrel. Baxter was well known to be a man of voracious appetite; and it seems that one morning, on going out to the fell, he found a piece of bread and butter wrapped in white paper. This he incautiously devoured, and died a few hours after in great agony. The following is inscribed on his tombstone, Knaresdale, Northumberland:— All you that please these lines to read, It will cause a tender heart to bleed. I murdered was upon the fell, And by the man I knew full well; By bread and butter which he’d laid, I, being harmless, was betrayed. I hope he will rewarded be That laid the poison there for me. IN DONCASTER CHURCHYARD, 1816. Here lies 2 Brothers by misfortin serounded, One dy’d of his wounds & the other was drownded. AT SARAGOSSA, SPAIN. Here lies John Quebecca, precentor to My Lord the King. When he is admitted to the choir of angels, whose society he will embellish, and where he will distinguish himself by his powers of song, God shall say to the angels, “Cease, ye calves! and let me hear John Quebecca, the precentor of My Lord the King!” ROCHESTER’S EPITAPH ON CHARLES II. Here lies our sovereign lord the king, Whose word no man relied on; Who never said a foolish thing, And never did a wise one. FROM A GRAVESTONE IN ESSEX, ENGLAND. Here lies the man Richard, And Mary his wife, Whose surname was Pritchard: They lived without strife; And the reason was plain,— They abounded in riches, They had no care nor pain, And his wife wore the breeches. In All Saints’ Churchyard, Leicester, may be found the following on two children of John Bracebridge, who were both named John and both died in infancy:— Both John and John soon lost their lives, And yet, by God, John still survives. Bishop Thurlow, at one of his visitations, had the words by God altered to through God. FROM THETFORD CHURCHYARD. My grandfather was buried here, My cousin Jane, and two uncles dear; My father perished with inflammation in the thighs, And my sister dropped down dead in the Minories: But the reason why I’m here interred, according to my thinking, Is owing to my good living and hard drinking. If, therefore, good Christians, you wish to live long, Don’t drink too much wine, brandy, gin, or any thing strong. IN A CHURCHYARD IN ABERDEEN, SCOTLAND. Here lies I, Martin Elmrod; Have mercy on my soul, gude God, As I would have on thine gin I were God, And thou wert Martin Elmrod. IN SWANSEA CHURCHYARD. The body underneath this stone is Of my late husband, Jacob Jonas, Who, when alive, was an Adonis. Ah! well-a-day! O death! thou spoiler of fair faces, Why tookst thou him from my embraces? How couldst thou mar so many graces? Say, tyrant, say. AT NORTHALLERTON. Hic jacet Walter Gun, Sometime landlord of the Sun; Sic transit gloria mundi! He drank hard upon Friday, That being a high day, Then took to his bed, and died upon Sunday. ALL SAINTS, NEWCASTLE. Here lies poor Wallace, The prince of good fellows, Clerk of Allhallows, And maker of bellows. He bellows did make till the day of his death; But he that made bellows could never make breath. IN CALSTOCK CHURCHYARD, CORNWALL. ’Twas by a fall I caught my death; No man can tell his time or breath; I might have died as soon as then, If I had had physician men. ON GENERAL WOLFE. On the death of General Wolfe, a premium was offered for the best epitaph on that officer. One of the candidates for the prize sent a poem, of which the following stanza is a specimen:— He marched without dread or fears, At the head of his bold grenadiers; And what was more remarkable—nay, very particular— He climbed up rocks that were perpendicular. REBECCA ROGERS, FOLKESTONE, 1688. A house she hath, ’tis made of such good fashion, The tenant ne’er shall pay for reparation; Nor will her landlord ever raise her rent, Or turn her out of doors for non-payment: From chimney-tax this cell’s forever free,— To such a house, who would not tenant be? IN DORCHESTER, MASS.
1661. Heare lyes our captaine, and major of Suffolk was withall, A godly magistrate was he, and major generall. Two troops of hors with him here came, such worth his love did crave, Ten companyes of foot also mourning marcht to his grave. Let all that read be sure to keep the faith as he hath don; With Christ he lives now crownd. His name was Humphry Atherton. IN KNIGHTSBRIDGE CHURCHYARD. On a man who was too poor to be buried with relations in the church:— Here I lie at the chancel door, And I lie here because I am poor; For the further in, the more you pay,— But here I lie as warm as they. IN BIDEFORD CHURCHYARD, KENT. The wedding-day appointed was, And wedding-clothes provided, But ere the day did come, alas! He sickened, and he die did. IN WHITTLEBURY CHURCHYARD, NORTHAMPTONSHIRE. John Heath, 1767, Æt. 27. While Time doth run, from sin depart; Let none e’er shun Death’s piercing dart; For read and look, and you will see A wondrous change was wrought on me. For while I lived in joy and mirth, Grim Death came in and stopped my breath; For I was single in the morning light, By noon was married, and was dead at night. IN LONGNOR CHURCHYARD, STAFFORD. William Billings, a soldier in the British army 75 years, Died 1793, aged 114 years. Billeted by death, I quartered here remain, And when the trumpet sounds, I’ll rise and march again. IN ROCHESTER CHURCHYARD, ENG. Though young she was, Her youth could not withstand, Nor her protect From Death’s impartial hand. Life is a cobweb, be we e’er so gay, And death a broom that sweeps us all away. HUMPHREY COLE. Here lies the body of good Humphrey Cole; Though black his name, yet spotless is his soul; But yet not black, though Carbo is the name, Thy chalk is scarcely whiter than his fame. A priest of priests, inferior was to none, Took heaven by storm when here his race was run. Thus ends the record of this pious man: Go and do likewise, reader, if you can. IN EAST HARTFORD, CONN. Now she is dead and cannot stir; Her cheeks are like the faded rose; Which of us next shall follow her, The Lord Almighty only knows. Hark, she bids all her friends adieu; An angel calls her to the spheres; Our eyes the radiant saint pursue Through liquid telescopes of tears. ON A TOMBSTONE IN NEW JERSEY. Reader, pass on!—don’t waste your time On bad biography and bitter rhyme; For what I am, this crumbling clay insures, And what I was, is no affair of yours! IN A NEW ENGLAND GRAVEYARD. Here lies John Auricular, Who in the ways of the Lord walked perpendicular.
Many a cold wind o’er my body shall roll, While in Abraham’s bosom I’m a feasting my soul. AT AUGUSTA, MAINE. —After Life’s Scarlet Fever, I sleep well. The following illustrated epitaph is copied from a tombstone near Williamsport, Pa. Sacred to the memory of Henry Harris, Born June 27th, 1821, of Henry Harris and Jane his wife. Died on the 4th of May, 1837, by the kick of a colt in his bowels. Peaceable and quiet, a friend to his father and mother, and respected by all who knew him, and went to the world where horses don’t kick, where sorrows and weeping is no more. In Dorchester, Mass. may be seen the following queer epitaph on a young woman:— On the 21st of March God’s angels made a sarche. Around the door they stood; They took a maid, It is said, And cut her down like wood. A Dutchman’s epitaph on his twin babes:— Here lies two babes, dead as two nits, Who shook to death mit aguey fits. They was too good to live mit me, So God he took ’em to live mit he. MORTUARY PUNS. Peter Comestor, whom the following epitaph represents as speaking, was the author of a Commentary on the Scriptures. He died in 1198:— I who was once called Peter [a stone], am now covered by a stone [petra]; and I who was once named Comestor [devourer], am now devoured. I taught when alive, nor do I cease to teach, though dead; for he who beholds me reduced to ashes may say,—“This man was once what we are now; and what he is now, we soon shall be.” ON A YOUTH WHO DIED FOR LOVE OF MOLLY STONE. Molle fuit saxum, saxum, O! si Molle fuisset, Non foret hic subter, sed super esset ei. Luttrell wrote the following on a man who was run over by an omnibus:— Killed by an omnibus! Why not? So quick a death a boon is: Let not his friends lament his lot— Mors omnibus communis. WILLIAM MORE, STEPNEY CHURCHYARD. Here lies one More, and no more than he; One More, and no more! how can that be? Why one More and no more, may lie here alone; But here lies one More, and that’s more than one! On the tombstone of John Fell, superintendent of the turnpike-roads from Kirby Kendal to Kirby Irleth, are the following lines:— Reader, doth he not merit well thy praise, Whose practice was through life to mend his ways? IN SELBY CHURCHYARD, YORK. This tombstone is a Milestone; ha, how so? Because, beneath lies Miles, who’s Miles below. ON DU BOIS, BORN IN A BAGGAGE-WAGON, AND KILLED IN A DUEL. Begot in a cart, in a cart first drew breath, Carte tierce was his life, and a carte was his death, ON LILL. Here lies the tongue of Godfrey Lill, Which always lied, and lies here still. On the tombstone of Dr. Walker, who wrote a work on “English Particles,” is inscribed,— Here lies Walker’s Particles. Dr. Fuller’s reads,— Here lies Fuller’s Earth. And Archbishop Potter’s,— Alack and well-a-day, Potter himself is turned to clay. Proposed by Jerrold for Charles Knight, the Shakspearian critic:— On a well-known Shakspearian actor:— On the tomb of an auctioneer at Greenwood:— Miss Long was a beautiful actress of the last century, so short in stature that she was called the Pocket Venus. Her epitaph concludes,— Though Long, yet short; Though short, yet Pretty Long. On the eminent barrister, Sir John Strange:— Here lies an honest lawyer—that is Strange. On William Button, in a churchyard near Salisbury:— O sun, moon, stars, and ye celestial poles! Are graves, then, dwindled into Button-holes? On Foote, the comedian:— Foote from his earthly stage, alas! is hurled; Death took him off, who took off all the world. In the chancel of the church of Barrow-on-Soar, Leicestershire, is the following on Theophilus Cave:— Here in this Grave there lies a Cave. We call a Grave a Cave; If Cave be Grave, and Grave be Cave, Then, reader, judge, I crave, Whether doth Cave here lye in Grave, Or Grave here lye in Cave: If Grave in Cave here bury’d lye, Then Grave, where is thy victory? Goe, reader, and report here lyes a Cave, Who conquers Death and buries his own Grave. The following, in Harrow Churchyard, is ascribed to Lord Byron:— Beneath these green trees rising to the skies, The planter of them, Isaac Greentree, lies; A time shall come when these green trees shall fall, And Isaac Greentree rise above them all. ON THOMAS GREENHILL, OXFORDSHIRE, 1624. He once a Hill was fresh and Green, Now withered is not to be seen; Earth in earth shovelled up is shut, A Hill into a Hole is put; But darksome earth by Power Divine, Bright at last as the sun may shine. ON A CORONER WHO HANGED HIMSELF. He lived and died By suicide. ON A CELEBRATED COOK. ON MR. FISH. Worms bait for fish; but here’s a sudden change; Fish is bait for worms—is not that passing strange? ON TWO CHILDREN. To the memory of Emma and Maria Littleboy, the twin-children of George and Emma Littleboy of Hornsey, who died July 16, 1783. Two little boys lie here, Yet strange to say, These little boys are girls. ON MISS NOTT. Nott born, Nott dead, Nott christened, Nott begot; So here she lies that was and that was Nott. Reader behold a wonder rarely wrought, Which while thou seem’st to read thou readest Nott. ON MARY ANGEL, STEPNEY, 1693. To say an angel here interred doth lie, May be thought strange, for angels never die; Indeed some fell from heaven to hell, Are lost to rise no more; This only fell from death to earth, Not lost but gone before; Her dust lodged here, her soul perfect in grace, Among saints and angels now hath took its place. Beloe, in his Anecdotes, gives the following on William Lawes, the musical composer, who was killed by the Roundheads:— Concord is conquered! In his turn there lies The master of great Music’s mysteries; And in it is a riddle, like the cause, Will Lawes was slain by men whose Wills were Laws. ON MR. JOSEPH KING. Here lies a man than whom no better’s wal-king, Who was when sleeping even always tal-king; A king by birth was he, and yet was no king, In life was thin-king, and in death was Jo-King. On John Adams, of Southwell, a carrier, who died of drunkenness.—Byron. John Adams lies here, of the parish of Southwell, A carrier who carried the can to his mouth well; He carried so much, and he carried so fast, He could carry no more,—so was carried at last; For the liquor he drank being too much for one, He could not carry off, so he’s now carri-on. ON A LINEN-DRAPER. Cottons and cambrics, all adieu, And muslins too, farewell, Plain, striped, and figured, old and new, Three quarters, yard, or ell; By nail and yard I’ve measured ye, As customers inclined, The churchyard now has measured me. And nails my coffin bind. ON A WOMAN WHO HAD AN ISSUE IN HER LEG. Here lieth Margaret, otherwise Meg, Who died without issue, save one in her leg. Strange woman was she, and exceedingly cunning, For while one leg stood still, the other kept running. FROM LLANFLANTWYTHYL CHURCHYARD, WALES. 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, Though he made our old organ give many a blast. No puffer was he, though a capital blower, He could fill double G, and now lies a note lower. ON A LAST-MAKER. Stop, stranger, stop, and wipe a tear, For the last man at last lies here. Though ever-last-ing he has been, He has at last passed life’s last scene. Famed for good works, much time he passed In doing good,—he has done his last. FROM ST. ANNE’S CHURCHYARD, ISLE OF MAN. Daniel Tear, ob. Dec. 7, 1787, Æt. 110 years. Here, friend, is little Daniel’s tomb; To Joseph’s age he did arrive, Sloth killing thousands in their bloom, While labor kept poor Dan alive. Though strange, yet true, full seventy years His wife was happy in her Tears. In the Greek Anthology is a punning epitaph on a physician, by Empedocles, who lived in the fifth century before Christ. The pun consists in the derivation of the name Pausanias,—causing a cessation of pain or affliction,—and therefore only a portion of the double meaning can be preserved in a translation:— Pausanias,—not so named without a cause, As one who oft has given to pain a pause,— Blest son of Esculapius, good and wise, Here in his native Gela buried lies; Who many a wretch once rescued by his charms From dark Persephone’s constraining arms. CURIOUS AND PUZZLING EPITAPHS. On the monument of Sardanapalus was inscribed, in Assyrian characters,— ?S????, ????, ?????. ?S ????? ?????? ??? ???? EAT, DRINK, BE MERRY. THE REST IS NOT WORTH THAT! meaning a snap of the fingers, which is represented by a hand engraved on the stone, with the thumb and middle finger meeting at the top. Casaubon translates pa??e??, to love (pa??e?? nihil aliud significat nisi e???). Solomon said, all is vanity, but not till he had eaten, drunk, and loved to a surfeit; and Swift left the well-known lines,— Life’s a farce, and all things show it, I thought so once, but now I know it,— but this information was for the tomb, when the capacity to eat, drink, and love was gone.
At the entrance of the church of San Salvador, in the city of Oviedo, in Spain, is a remarkable tomb, erected by a prince named Silo, with a very curious Latin inscription, which may be read two hundred and seventy ways, by beginning with the capital S in the centre:— Silo Princeps Fecit. T I C E F S P E C N C E P S F E C I T I O 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 C 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 On the tomb are inscribed these letters:— Which are the initials of the following Latin words:— Hic situs est Silo, sit tibi terra levis. [Here lies Silo. May the earth lie lightly upon him.] FROM ST. AGNES’, LONDON. Qu an tris di c vul stra os guis ti ro um nere vit. H san chris mi t mu la The middle line furnishes the terminal letters or syllables of the words in the upper and lower lines, and when added they read thus:— Quos anguis tristi diro cum vulnere stravit Hos sanguis Christi miro tum munere lavit. [Those who have felt the serpent’s venomed wound In Christ’s miraculous blood have healing found.] FROM A CHURCHYARD IN GERMANY. O quid tua te be bis bia abit ra ra ra es et in ram ram ram i i Mox eris quod ego nunc. Taking the position of the words in the first line, which are placed above or over (super) those in the second, and noting the repetition of the syllables ra and ram thrice (ter), and the letter i twice (bis), the reading is easy. O superbe quid superbis? tua superbia te superabit. Terra es et in terram ibis. Mox eris quod ego nunc. FROM CUNWALLOW CHURCHYARD, CORNWALL. (May be read backwards or forwards, up or down.) Shall we all die? We shall die all, All die shall we,— Die all we shall. FROM LAVENHAM CHURCH, NORFOLK, ENG. John Weles, ob. 1694. Quod fuit esse, quod est; Quod non fuit esse, quod esse; Esse quod est, non est; Quod non est, hoc erit esse. [What was existence, is that which lies here; that which was not existence, is that which is existence; to be what is now is not to be; that which is now, is not existence, but will be hereafter.] That which a being was, what is it? show; That being which it was, it is not now; To be what is, is not to be, you see; That which now is not shall a being be. ON THE MONUMENT OF JOHN OF DONCASTER, 1579. Habeo, dedi quod alteri; Habuique quod, dedi mihi; Sed quod reliqui, perdidi. [What I gave, I have; What I spent, I had; What I saved, I lost.] IN THE CHURCHYARD OF LLANGERRIG, MONTGOMERYSHIRE. | O | Earth | O | Earth | observe this well,— | | That | to | shall come to dwell; | | Then | in | shall close remain, | | Till | from | shall rise again. | IN HADLEY CHURCHYARD, SUFFOLK. | The charnel mounted on the w | ALL. | | Sets to be seen in funer | | A matron plain domestic | | In care and pain continu | | Not slow, not gay, not prodig | | Yet neighborly and hospit | | Her children seven, yet living | | Her sixty-seventh year hence did c | | To rest her body natur | | In hopes to rise spiritu | WRITTEN IN 1748. Ye witty mortals, as you’re passing by, Remark that near this monument doth lie, Centered in dust, Two husbands, two wives, Two sisters, two brothers, Two fathers, a son, Two daughters, two mothers, A grandfather, grandmother, and a granddaughter, An uncle, an aunt, and their niece followed after. This catalogue of persons mentioned here Was only five, and all from incest clear. IN ST. PAUL’S, DEPTFORD. Rev. Dr. Conyers expired immediately after the delivery of a sermon from the text, “Ye shall see my face no more,” Æt. 62, 1786. Sent by their Lord on purposes of grace, Thus angels do his will, and see his face; With outspread wings they stand, prepared to soar, Declare their message, and are seen no more. Underneath is a Latin inscription, of which the following is a translation:— I have sinned, I repented, I believed, I have loved, I rest, I shall rise again, And by the grace of Christ, However unworthy, I shall reign. PARALLELS WITHOUT A PARALLEL. AT WINCHESTER, ENG. On the north side of this church is the monument of two brothers of the surname Clarke, wherewith I was so taken as take them I must; and as I found them I pray accept them. Thus an union of two brothers from Avington, the Clarkes’ family, were grandfather, father, and son, successivelie clerkes of the Privy Seale in Court. The grandfather had but two sons, both Thomas. Their wives both Amys, Their heyres both Henry, And the heyres of Henries both Thomas. Both their wives were inheritrixes, And both had two sons and one daughter. And both their daughters issuelesse. Both of Oxford; both of the Temple; Both officers to Queen Elizabeth and or noble King James. And both Justices of the Peace. Togeather both agree in armes, one a knight, ye other a captain. Si quÆras plura; both—; and so I leave ym. BATHOS. HOWELL’S EPITAPH ON CHARLES I. So fell the royal oak by a wild crew Of mongrel shrubs, that underneath him grew; So fell the lion by a pack of curs; So the rose withered ’twixt a knot of burs; So fell the eagle by a swarm of gnats; So the whale perished by a shoal of sprats! TRANSCENDENTAL. FROM THE CHURCHYARD OF ST. EDMUND’S, SALISBURY. Written by a Swedenborgian named Maton, on his children. Innocence embellishes divinely complete To prescience co-egent now sublimely great In the benign, perfecting, vivifying state. So heavenly guardian occupy the skies The pre-existent God, omnipotent, all-wise; He shall surpassingly immortalize thy theme And permanent thy bliss, celestial, supreme. When gracious refulgence bids the grave resign, The Creator’s nursing protection be thine; Then each perspiring ether shall joyfully rise Transcendently good, supereminently wise. CENTO. AT NORTHBOROUGH, MASS. On the tombstone of Rabbi Judah Monis, 40 years Hebrew Instructor in Harvard University, who was converted to Christianity in 1722, and died in 1764. | A native branch of Jacob see, | | | Which once from off its olive broke; | | | Regrafted from the living tree, | Rom. xi. 17, 24. | | Of the reviving sap partook. | | | From teeming Zion’s fertile womb, | Isa. lxvi. 8. | | As dewy drops in early morn, | Ps. cx. 3. | | Or rising bodies from the tomb, | John v. 28, 29. | | At once be Israel’s nation born. | Isa. lxvi. 8. | ACROSTICAL. AT DORCHESTER, MASS. James Humphrey, 1686. I nclosed within this shrine is precious dust, A nd only waits the rising of the just; M ost useful while he lived, adorned his station, E ven to old age served his generation, S ince his decease thought of with veneration. H ow great a blessing this ruling elder he U nto this church and town and pastors three! M ather, the first, did by him help receive; F lint he did next his burden much relieve; R enowned Danforth did he assist with skill, E steemed high by all, bear fruit until, Y ielding to death, his glorious seat did fill. IN ASH CHURCH, KENT. J John Brooke of the Parish of Ashe, O Only he is nowe gone, H His days are past; his corps is layd N Now under this marble stone. B Brookstrete he was the honor of, R Robd now it is of name, O Only because he had no sede O Or children to have the same; K Knowing that all must pass away, E Even when God will, none can denay. He passed to God in the yere of Grace One thousand fyve hundredth fower score and two it was, The sixteenth daye of January, I tell now playne, The fyve and twentieth yere of Elizabeth rayne. ABORIGINAL. IN THE MOHEAGAN BURIAL-GROUND, CONN. Here lies the body of Sunseeto, Own son to Uncas, grandson to Oneeko, Who were the famous sachems of Moheagan, But now they are all dead, I think it is werheegen. [29] ORONO, CHIEF OF THE PENOBSCOTS, OLDTOWN, MAINE, 1801, ÆT. 113 Safe lodged within his blanket, here below, Lie the last relics of old Orono; Worn down with toil and care, he in a trice Exchanged his wigwam for a paradise. AFRICAN. AT CONCORD, MASS. God wills us free; man wills us slaves. I will as God wills: God’s will be done. Here lies the body of John Jack, a native of Africa, who died, March, 1773, aged about 60 years. Though born in a land of slavery, he was born free; though he lived in a land of liberty, he lived a slave, till, by his honest though stolen labors, he acquired the source of slavery, which gave him his freedom, though not long before death, the grand tyrant, gave him his final emancipation, and set him on a footing with kings. Though a slave to vice, he practised those virtues, without which, kings are but slaves. AT ATTLEBORO, MASS. Here lies the best of slaves, Now turning into dust. Cesar, the Ethiopian, craves A place among the just. His faithful soul is fled To realms of heavenly light; And by the blood that Jesus shed, Is changed from black to white January 15, he quitted the stage, In the 77th year of his age. HIBERNIAN. AT BELTURBET. Here lies John Higley, whose father and mother were drowned in their passage from America. Had they both lived, they would have been buried here.(!)
Here lies the body of John Mound, Lost at sea and never found.
O cruel Death! how could you be so unkind, To take him before and leave me behind? You should have taken both of us if either; Which would have been more pleasing to the survivor!
Here lies father and mother, and sister and I,— They all died within the short space of one year. They all be buried at Wimble but I, And I be buried here. AT MONKNEWTON, NEAR DROGHEDA. Erected by Patrick Kelly, Of the town of Drogheda, Mariner, In Memory of his Posterity. Also the above Patrick Kelly, Who departed this Life the 12th August 1844, Age 60 years, Requiescat in pace. AT MONTROSE, 1757. Here lyes the Bodeys of George Young and Isabel Guthrie, and all their Posterity for more than fifty years backwards. AT ST. ANDREW’S, PLYMOUTH. Here lies the body of James Vernon, Esq., only surviving son of Admiral Vernon: died 23rd July 1753. AT LLANMYNECH, MONTGOMERYSHIRE. Here lies John Thomas And his children dear; Two buried at Oswestry, And one here. IN OXFORDSHIRE. Here lies the body of John Eldred, At least he will be here when he is dead; But now at this time he is alive, The 14th of August ’sixty-five. GREEK EPITAPHS. Christopher North, speaking of the celebrated epitaph written by Simonides and graved on the monument erected in commemoration of the battle of ThermopylÆ, says:—The oldest and best inscription is that on the altar-tomb of the Three Hundred. Here it is,—the Greek,—with three Latin and eighteen English versions. Start not: it is but two lines; and all Greece, for centuries, had them by heart. She forgot them, and “Greece was living Greece no more!” Of the various English translations of this celebrated epitaph, the following are the best:— O stranger, tell it to the LacedÆmonians, That we lie here in obedience to their precepts. Go tell the Spartans, thou who passest by, That here, obedient to their laws, we lie. ON MILTIADES. Miltiades! thy valor best (Although in every region known) The men of Persia can attest, Taught by thyself at Marathon. ON THE TOMB OF THEMISTOCLES. By the sea’s margin, on the watery strand, Thy monument, Themistocles, shall stand. By this directed to thy native shore, The merchant shall convey his freighted store; And when our fleets are summoned to the fight, Athens shall conquer with this tomb in sight. ON ÆSIGENES. Hail, universal mother! lightly rest On that dead form Which when with life invested ne’er opprest Its fellow-worm. ON TIMOCRITUS. Timocritus adorns this humble grave; Mars spares the coward, and destroys the brave. ON THREE NEIGHBORING TOMBS. This is a sailor’s—that a ploughman’s tomb;— Thus sea and land abide one common doom.
My lot was meagre fare, disease and shame. At length I died—you all must do the same.
Fortune and Hope, farewell! I’ve found the port: You’ve done with me—go now, with others sport. HELIODORA. Tears, Heliodora! on thy tomb I shed, Love’s last libation to the shades below; Tears, bitter tears, by fond remembrance fed, Are all that Fate now leaves me to bestow. Vain sorrows! vain regrets! yet, loveliest, thee, Thee still they follow in the silent urn, Retracing hours of social converse free, And soft endearments never to return. How thou art torn, sweet flower, that smiled so fair! Torn, and thy honored bloom with dust defiled; Yet, holy earth, accept my suppliant prayer, And in a mother’s arms enfold thy child. FROM THE ALCESTIS OF EURIPIDES. We will not look on her burial sod As the cell of sepulchral sleep: It shall be as the shrine of a radiant god, And the pilgrim shall visit this blest abode To worship, and not to weep. And as he turns his steps aside, Thus shall he breathe his vow:— Here slept a self-devoted bride; Of old, to save her lord she died, She is an angel now. ON A YOUNG BRIDE. Not Hymen,—it was Ades’ self alone That loosened Clearista’s virgin zone: The morning ’spousal song was raised,—but oh! At once ’twas silenced into threnes of woe; And the same torches which the bridal bed Had lit, now showed the pathway to the dead. ON A BACHELOR. At threescore winters’ end I died, A cheerless being, sole and sad; The nuptial knot I never tied, And wish my father never had.
My name, my country, what are they to thee? What, whether base or proud my pedigree? Perhaps I far surpassed all other men; Perhaps I fell below them all,—what then? Suffice it, stranger, that thou seest a tomb; Thou know’st its use,—it hides,—no matter whom. ANTITHESIS EXTRAORDINARY. The following singular inscription may be seen on a monument in Horsley Down Church, Cumberland, England:— Here lie the bodies of Thomas Bond and Mary his wife. She was temperate, chaste, and charitable. But She was proud, peevish, and passionate. She was an affectionate wife and a tender mother, But Her husband and child, whom she loved, seldom saw her countenance without a disgusting frown; Whilst she received visitors whom she despised with an endearing smile. Her behaviour was discreet towards strangers, But Imprudent in her family. Abroad her conduct was influenced by good breeding, But At home by ill temper. She was a professed enemy to flattery, and was seldom known to praise or commend; But The talents in which she principally excelled Were difference of opinion and discovering flaws and Imperfections. She was an admirable economist, And, without prodigality, Dispensed plenty to every person in her family, But Would sacrifice their eyes to a farthing candle. She sometimes made her husband Happy with her good qualities, But Much more frequently miserable with her Many failings. Insomuch that in thirty years’ cohabitation, He often lamented that, Maugre all her virtues, He had not on the whole enjoyed two years Of matrimonial comfort. At length, Finding she had lost the affection of her husband, as well as the regard of her neighbors, family disputes having been divulged by servants, She died of vexation, July 20, 1768, Aged 48 years. Her worn-out husband survived her four months and two days, and departed this life November 22, 1768, In the 54th year of his age. William Bond, brother to the deceased, Erected this stone as a Weekly monitor to the wives of this parish, That they may avoid the infamy of having Their memories handed down to posterity With a patchwork character. THE PRINTER’S EPITAPH. The epitaph on Dr. Caius, the founder of the college which bears his name, cannot be blamed for prolixity. Dr. Fuller remarks, “few men might have had a longer, none ever had a shorter epitaph.” ON MR. MAGINNIS. Camden, in his Remaines,—a collection of fragments illustrative of the habits, manners and customs of the ancient Britons and Saxons,—gives examples of great men who had little epitaphs. For himself it has been suggested that the name of the work in question would be the most fitting:— LAUDATORY. Following the inscription to the memory of Albert, Prince Consort, on the Cairn at Balmoral, is the following quotation from the Wisdom of Solomon, iv. 13, 14. He being made perfect in a short time, Fulfilled a long time: For his soul pleased the Lord; Therefore hasted He to take Him away from among the wicked.
Could he disclose who rests below, The things beyond the grave that lie, We more should learn than now we know. But know no better how to die.
Dust to its narrow house beneath, Soul to its place on high; They that have seen thy look in death, No more may fear to die.
His youth was innocent—his riper age Marked with some act of goodness every day; And watched by eyes that loved him, calm and sage, Faded his late declining years away; Cheerful he gave his being up, and went To share the holy rest that waits a life well spent. EPITAPHIUM CHEMICUM. 1791. Here lieth to digest, macerate, and amalgamate with clay In balneo arenÆ, stratum super stratum, The residuum, terra damnata, and caput mortuum OF A CHEMIST. A man who in his earthly Laboratory Pursued various processes to obtain The Arcanum VitÆ, Or the secret to Live; Also the Aurum VitÆ, or The Art of getting, not making, Gold. Alchemist-like, he saw all his labor and projection, As mercury in the fire, evaporated in fume. When he dissolved to his first principles, He departed as poor As the last drops of an alembic. Though fond of novelty, he carefully avoided The fermentation, effervescence, and Decrepitation of this life. Full seventy years His exalted essence Was hermetically sealed in its terrene matrass; But the radical moisture being exhausted, The Elixir VitÆ spent, And exsiccated to a cuticle, He could not suspend longer in his vehicle: But precipitated gradatim, Per campanam, To his original dust. May the light above, More resplendent than Bolognian phosphorus, Preserve him From the athanor, empyreuma, and Reverberatory furnace of the other world; Depurate him from the fÆces and scoria of this; Highly rectify and volatilize His ethereal spirit; Bring it safely out of the crucible of earthly trial, Place it in a proper recipient Among the elect of the Flowers of Benjamin; Never to be saturated till the general resuscitation, Deflagration, calcination, And sublimation of all things. MISCELLANEOUS. ON SIR JOHN VANBRUGH, THE ARCHITECT. Lie heavy on him, earth; for he Laid many heavy loads on thee.—Evans. THE ORATOR’S EPITAPH. Here, reader, turn your weeping eyes, My fate a useful moral teaches; The hole in which my body lies Would not contain one-half my speeches.—Brougham. IN LYDFORD CHURCHYARD, NEAR DARTMOOR. Here lies, in horizontal position, the outside Case of George Routleigh, Watchmaker; Integrity was the Mainspring, and prudence the Regulator, of all the actions of his life. Humane, generous, and liberal, his Hand never stopped, till he had relieved distress. So nicely regulated were all his Motions, that he never went wrong, except when set a-going by people who did not know his Key: Even then he was easily set right again. He had the art of disposing his time so well, that his Hours kept running on in a continual round of pleasure, till an unlucky Minute put a stop to his existence. He departed this life Nov. 14, 1802, Æt. 57, in hopes of being taken in hand by his Maker; and of being thoroughly Cleaned, Repaired, Wound up, and Set a-going in the world to come. AT KITTERY, MAINE. I was drowned, alas! in the deep, deep seases. The blessed Lord does as he pleases. But my Kittery friends did soon appear, And laid my body right down here. ON A SAN FRANCISCO MONEY-LENDER. Here lies old thirty-five per cent.: The more he made, the more he lent; The more he got, the more he craved; The more he made, the more he shaved; Great God! can such a soul be saved? ON AN IMPORTUNATE TAILOR. Here lies W. W., Who never more will trouble you, trouble you. IN SOHAM CHURCHYARD, CAMBRIDGESHIRE. A.D. 1643, Ætatis suÆ 125. Here lies Dr. Ward, whom you knew well before; He was kind to his neighbors, good to the poor. 1 2 3 4 5 6 To God, to Prince, Wife, kindred, friend, the poor, 1 2 3 4 5 6 Religious, loyal, true, kind, stedfast, dear, 1 2 3 4 5 6 In zeal, faith, love, blood, amity, and store, He hath so lived, and so deceased, lies here. IN THE CHURCH OF ST. GREGORY, SUDBURY. Viator, mirum referam. Quo die efflavit animam Thos. Carter, prÆdictus, Acus foramen transivit Camelus Sudburiensis. Vade, et si dives sis, tu fac similiter. Vale. (Traveller, I will relate a prodigy. On the day whereon the aforesaid Thos. Carter breathed out his soul, a Sudbury camel passed through the eye of a needle. Go, and if thou art wealthy, do thou likewise. Farewell.) IN LLANBEBLIG, CARNARVONSHIRE. Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven. Here lie the remains of Thomas Chambers, Dancing Master; Whose genteel address and assiduity in Teaching Recommended him to all that had the Pleasure of his acquaintance. ON AN INFIDEL. Beneath this stone the mouldering relics lie Of one to whom Religion spoke in vain; He lived as though he never were to die, And died as though he ne’er should live again. PROPOSED BY A FRENCH THEOLOGIAN FOR VOLTAIRE. In poesi magnus, In historia parvus, In philosophia minimus, In religione nullus. Hume, the classic historian of England, denied the existence of matter, and held that the whole congeries of material things are but impressions and ideas in the mind, distinguishing an impression from an idea by its stronger effect on the thinking faculty. Dr. Beattie sufficiently exposed the absurdity; but his famous essay has nothing more pointed than the witty epitaph that somebody wrote on the marble shaft that stands over the infidel’s grave:— Beneath this circular idea, vulgarly called tomb, Impressions and ideas rest, which constituted Hume. ON TOM PAINE. Tom Paine for the Devil is surely a match. In leaving old England he cheated Jack Ketch; In France (the first time such a thing had been seen) He cheated the watchful and sharp guillotine; And at last, to the sorrow of all the beholders, He marched out of life with his head on his shoulders. EARTH TO EARTH. Few persons have met with the following poem, now nearly four centuries old; but many will recognise in some of the stanzas, particularly the first four and the last four, the source of familiar monumental inscriptions. The antiquary can refer to many a dilapidated stone on which these quaint old lines can yet be traced. Vado mori Rex sum, quid honor quid gloria mundi, Est vita mors hominum regia—vado mori. Vado mori miles victo certamine belli, Mortem non didici vincere vado mori. Vado mori medicus, medicamine non relevandus, Quicquid agunt medici respuo vado mori, Vado mori logicus, aliis concludere novi, Concludit breviter mors in vado mori. Earth out of earth is worldly wrought; Earth hath gotten upon earth a dignity of nought; Earth upon earth has set all his thought, How that earth upon earth might be high brought. Earth upon earth would be a king, But how that earth shall to earth he thinketh no thing; When earth biddeth earth his rents home bring, Then shall earth from earth have a hard parting. Earth upon earth winneth castles and towers, Then saith earth unto earth this is all ours; But when earth upon earth has builded his bowers, Then shall earth upon earth suffer hard showers. Earth upon earth hath wealth upon mould; Earth goeth upon earth glittering all in gold, Like as he unto earth never turn should; And yet shall earth unto earth sooner than he would. Why that earth loveth earth wonder I think, Or why that earth will for earth sweat and swink. For when earth upon earth is brought within the brink, Then shall earth for earth suffer a foul stink. As earth upon earth were the worthies nine, And as earth upon earth in honor did shine; But earth list not to know how they should incline, And their gowns laid in the earth when death hath made his fine. As earth upon earth full worthy was Joshua, David, and worthy King Judas Maccabee, They were but earth none of them three; And so from earth unto earth they left their dignity. Alisander was but earth that all the world wan, And Hector upon earth was held a worthy man, And Julius CÆsar, that the Empire first began; And now as earth within earth they lie pale and wan. Arthur was but earth for all his renown, No more was King Charles nor Godfrey of Boulogne; But now earth hath turned their nobleness upside down, And thus earth goeth to earth by short conclusion. Whoso reckons also of William Conqueror, King Henry the First that was of knighthood flower, Earth hath closed them full straitly in his bower,— So the end of worthiness,—here is no more succor. Now ye that live upon earth, both young and old, Think how ye shall to earth, be ye never so bold; Ye be unsiker, whether it be in heat or cold, Like as your brethren did before, as I have told. Now ye folks that be here ye may not long endure, But that ye shall turn to earth I do you ensure; And if ye list of the truth to see a plain figure, Go to St. Paul’s and see the portraiture. All is earth and shall to earth as it sheweth there, Therefore ere dreadful death with his dart you dare, And for to turn into earth no man shall it forbear, Wisely purvey you before, and thereof have no fear. Now sith by death we shall all pass, it is to us certain, For of earth we come all, and to the earth shall turn again; Therefore to strive or grudge it were but vain, For all is earth and shall be earth,—nothing more certain. Now earth upon earth consider thou may How earth cometh to earth naked alway, Why should earth upon earth go stout alway, Since earth out of earth shall pass in poor array? I counsel you upon earth that wickedly have wrought, That earth out of earth to bliss may be brought. BYRON’S INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF HIS DOG. Near this spot Are deposited the remains of one Who possessed beauty without vanity, Strength without insolence, Courage without ferocity, And all the virtues of man without his vices. This praise, which would be unmeaning flattery If inscribed over human ashes, Is but a just tribute to the memory of Boatswain, a dog, Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803, And died at Newstead Abbey, Nov. 18, 1808.
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