Inscription.

Here lies John Smith
who was shot by Col.
Buchan and the laird
of Lee. Feb. 1685.
For his adherence to the
word of God and Scot
land’s covenanted w-
ork of reformation,
Rev. 12, ii. Erected in the
year 1731.

Epitaph.

When proud apostates
did abjure Scotland’s
reformation pure And
fill’d this land with perj
ury and all sorts of In-
iquity Such as would not
with them comply They pe
rsecute with hue and
cry. I in the flight
was overtane And fo
r the truth by them
was slain.

Caithnessshire.

HALKIRK.

Sir Jno. Graham.

Here lies Sir John the Grame both right and wise,
One of the chiefs rescued Scotland thrice,
An better knight ne’re to the world was lent
Than was good Grame of truth and hardiment.

Dumfriesshire.

HODDAM.

Here lyes a man, who all his mortal life
Past mending clocks but could not mend hys wyfe.
The ‘larum of his bell was ne’er sae shrill
As was her tongue, aye clacking like a mill.
But now he’s gane—oh, whither? nane can tell—
I hope beyond the sound o’ Mally’s bell.

Here lies John Speir
Dumfreise—Pipier,
Young John?—Fy Fy.
Old John?—Ay Ay.

Edinburghshire.

EDINBURGH.

Here lie I, Martin Eldinbrode,
Ha’ mercy on my soul, Loord Gode;
As I would do, were I Lord Gode,
And thou wert Martin Eldinbrode.

John McPherson
Was a wonderful person,
He was six feet two
Without his shoe,
And he was slew
At Waterloo.

Here lies Donald and his wife
Janet Mac Fee,
Aged Forty hee,
Aged thirty shee.

Here lieth the limbs of a lang devil,
Wha! in his time has done much evil,
And oft the ale wybes he opprest,
And blest be God he’s gone to rest.

John Carnagie lies here,
Descended of Adam and Eve,
If any can gang higher
He willingly gives him leave.

This epitaph is undoubtedly that from which Prior borrowed those beautiful and well-known lines he once intended for his own monument.

Wha lies here?
I Johnny Dow.
Hoo! Johnny, is that you?
Ay, man, but a’m dead now.

Fifeshire.

TORRYBURN.

On a drunken Cobbler.

Enclosed within this narrow stall
Lies one who was a friend to awl.
He saved bad soles from getting worse,
But damned his own without remorse.
And tho’ a drunken life he passed,
Yet saved his soul by mending at the last.

Forfarshire.

CUPAR.

William Rymour.

Through Christ, T’me not inferiour
To William the Conqueror.—Rom. 8, 37. (! !)

DUNDEE.

Walter Coupar, Tailor.

Kynd commorads! here Coupar’s corpse is laid,
Walter by name, and Tayleour to his trade,
Both kind and true, and stout and honest-hearted,
Condole with me that he so soon departed.
For, Tavou, he never weyl’d and sheer
Had better parts, nor he that’s bur’yd here.

DUNDEE.

Three Scottish worthies were once appointed to compose an Epitaph on a departed Provost: subjoined are the productions of two of them, which were supposed to have been the means of killing the third candidate in a fit of laughter.

Here lies the Provost of Dundee,
Here lies him, here lies he.
Hi-diddle-dum, Hi-diddle-dee,
A, B, C, D, E, F, G.

Here lies the body of John Watson,
Read this not with your hats on,
For why—he was Provost of Dundee,
Hallelujah, Hallelujee.

MONTROSE.

Here lyes the bodeys of George Young and Isbel Guthrie, and all their posterity for fifty years backwards.
November 1757.

Haddingtonshire.

PRESTONPANS.

William Matthison here lies,
Whose age was forty-one,
February 17, he dies,
Went Isbel Mitchell from,
Who was his married wife
The fourth part of his life.
The soul it cannot die,
Though the body be turned to clay,
Yet meet again they must
At the last day.
Trumpet shall sound, archangels cry,
“Come forth Isbel Mitchell and meet Will
Matthison in the sky.”

HADDINGTON.

If modesty commend a wife
And Providence a mother,
Grave chastity a widow’s life,
We’ll not find such another
In Haddington as Mareon Gray,
Who here doth lie till the Domesday.

Hout, Atropos, heard-hearted hag,
To cut the sheugh o’ Jamie Craig!
For had he lived a wheen mae years
He’d been o’er teugh for thy auld shears.
But now he’s gane, sae maun we a’,
Wha wres’les Death’s aye shure to fa’;
Sae let us pray that we at last
May wun frae Death a canny cast.

ABERLADY.

“Here lies John Smith,
Whom Death slew, for all his pith
The starkest man in Aberlady,
God prepare and make us ready.

Lanarkshire.

GLASGOW.

Our life’s a flying shadow, God’s the pole,
The index pointing at him is our soul;
Death’s the horizon, when our sun is set,
Which will through Christ a resurrection get.

Here lies Mass Andrew Gray,
Of whom ne muckle good can I say:
He was ne Quaker, for he had ne spirit,
He was ne Papist, for he had ne merit.
He was ne Turk, for he drank muckle wine,
He was ne Jew, for he eat muckle swine.
Full forty years he preach’d and le’ed,
For which God doomed him when he de’ed.

Perthshire.

DUNKELD.

Margery Scott.

Stop, passenger, until my life you read,
The living may get knowledge from the dead:
Five times five years I lived a virgin life,
Five times five years I was a virtuous wife,
Five times five years a widow, grave and chaste,
Tired of the elements, I am now at rest;
Betwixt my cradle and my grave were seen
Eight mighty kings of Scotland and a Queen;
Thrice did I see old Pulacy pulled down,
And thrice the cloak did sink beneath the gown.

Stirlingshire.

STIRLING.

John Adamson’s here kept within,
Death’s prisoner for Adam’s sin,
But rests in hope that he shall be
Let, by the second Adam, free.

Wigtonshire.

WIGTON.

Here lies John Taggart, of honest fame,
Of stature low, and a leg lame;
Content he was with portion small,
Kept a shop in Wigtown, and that’s all.